


Undeserving

by Sugarhihihello



Series: Under One Banner [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dragon Age Big Bang 2015, Falling In Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 21,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3919051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarhihihello/pseuds/Sugarhihihello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is dragged to Skyhold as a prisoner. He deals with complicated Hawke feelings, being forgiven, the loss of a friend, and falling in love with a fabulous Tevinter mage. </p><p>Background relationships: F!Hawke/Fenris, F!Hawke/Anders, F!Lavellan/Cullen, Anders/Justice (kinda), Dorian/Zevran (slight smut), Cole/F!OC named Amy (cameo!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Niegodzien](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179455) by [Regalia1992](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regalia1992/pseuds/Regalia1992)



Anders sat on the floor. He hunched his shoulders against a biting draft sweeping in over the spray from the falls he could feel even here, a solid fifteen feet away

 _We should never have come South,_ he grumbled inside his mind.

 _We were too well known in the Free Marches,_ his mind responded.

Justice.

Anders sighed, raking his fingertips through his greasy hair. Maker, when was the last time he'd had a bath? He leaned his elbow on the chair beside him, his backside going numb against the floor.

Little hurts. Small punishments.

Justice chafed at the bars, at the confines of the cell.

Anders smirked, despite himself. _You get used to it._

_You never did._

The mage swallowed, scraping his nails along the woodgrain of the chair. _Maybe it's time I did. There's nothing left for us out there._

_The mages still-_

_Justice,_ Anders sighed. _We can't save them all._

The spirit seethed in him, emotions pulsing but thoughts silent.

The door rattled open. Heavy boots on the stairs.

Anders didn't stand to greet them. _More templars, more mages, more tranquil with their polite questions and clipboards and lists. They've had enough cooperation from me. I won't-_

“Anders.”

The blonde scrambled to his feet, threw himself toward the bars. He wrapped his filthy hands around the metal, skin burning with the icy breath of winter beneath his palms.

“Hawke.”

She smiled at him - sad and sorry, but still warm.

He swallowed hard. _Maker, but I missed your face._

“I hear they found you in the desert.”

“The Calling, it-”

“I know.” She wrapped her own hand around the bars, wrist an inch above his fingers. He could feel her body heat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“Varric called me. I'm... helping the Inquisition.”

“And-” Anders licked his lips. “And Fenris?”

She dropped her gaze to their hands, almost touching. “He's still in the Free Marches. Or was. Last I heard.”

Hope caught in Anders' lungs like the hitch of a match hissing with searing heat. “So did the two of you...”

“We're still together.” Her voice was final. As clear as it ever had been. A line – crossed once, never again. “He's not going to be happy I left him behind.”

Anders had to laugh at that. “No. No, he will not be.”

That smile again - less sad, less sorry - and she met his eyes.

_Warm. Always so warm to me when nothing ever was._

But the moment grew chilled, stretched thin, and she cleared her throat.

“Lavellan is a good woman. She will be kind to you.”

Kindness. It was what Hawke had always given him. _Kill them with kindness_ , wasn't that the phrase? She gave with sincerity, but it still hurt - dug in his ribs like a serrated blade, like the one she didn't use.

“I don't deserve her kindness,” he said. “Or yours.”

Justice snarled deep in his head, not needing words to communicate his displeasure. The spirit never did. Anders' hands shook and he knew if he pulled away from the bars, he would see cracks of ice-white fire licking along his palms.

But Hawke touched him then, her skin soft and gentle as her fingertips brushed his knuckles. “Do you regret it, then?”

Justice got louder.

A mirthless laugh. “That's the question, isn't it?”

Anders stepped away, stuffed his hands under his armpits.

“I don't,” said Hawke. “I don't regret you.”

And the knife twists.

“Maybe you should.” His voice is tight, low, creaking in his throat even as he gets the words past his teeth.

She shakes her head, but he steps back to his corner, settles onto the floor.

_I would have dragged you down into the dirt with me, and held you there. Would have clipped your wings, made you a burden to everyone around you. Made you like me._

“Anders.”

He didn't look up. Closed his eyes. Waited.

She sighed.

And then she left.

 

\---

 

Hawke and Bethany had been, appropriately, the first to see him.

Or rather, they'd seen the slumped form hauled between two soldiers, bound and chained and stumbling up the hill.

“I do not envy the Inquisitor,” said Hawke, leaning on her elbows on the wall.

Bethany drained her drink, then let the bottle drop to the stone with a clink. “Neither do I.”

“Does she often have prisoners dragged to her fortress?”

“Probably.”

“This is the second I've seen it, and I've only been here a month.”

They watched the group struggle up the hill, afternoon sun glinting off their helms and chains.

It was another hour before they were told who the prisoner was.


	2. Books

Lavellan's party saw Skyhold a good few hours before they reached it. Dorian was deep in fantasies of hot baths, clean clothes, soft beds. He sighed, eyes rolling back as he imagined it. _Hot food cooked with real spices. Warm fires. Sleeping without having to listen to Varric snore._

By the time they rode through the gates, he was practically salivating at the idea of finally being home, so much so that he didn't think stop to think, _Home? When did Skyhold become-_

“Inquisitor.” Cullen was waiting for her, of course.

Their affection for each other was almost too much, really.

But the Commander's face was serious. “There's been… a development while you were away.”

“What is it?” Lavellan asked as she swung off her horse.

“Really, Commander. The poor woman hasn't been here five minutes, and you go throwing business at her?” He tsked. “I thought you two loved each other.”

Lahria laughed. “He has a point.”

Cullen smirked a little, but then spoke a single sentence that ran through their group like chain lightning.

“They've brought Anders here for judgment.”

“Anders?” Cassandra balked. “As in-”

“Yes.” Cullen said, jaw tight. “ _That_ Anders.”

Varric didn't speak, just gave a low whistle between his teeth and rubbed his hands over his face.

Lahria's face was pale. “They brought him... to me.”

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes.

Everything Dorian knew about the rebel mage of Kirkwall came from Varric's books – or his rants in the Hinterlands after a particularly nasty fight with some of the mages there, and Cassandra's lip-curling remarks in response. He fiddled with the end of his mustache, hating that he had nothing to add to the conversation, no comment to throw off this tense atmosphere.

It was Cullen, instead, who broke the tension. “I just wanted you to hear it from me first.”

“Thank you.”

Dorian swept past the rest with an elegant flourish of his robes. “Well, I have a date with a bathtub and some clean linen.”

_And I need to meet this man. Can't have everyone one-upping me like this._

 

\---

 

 _Another visitor._ Anders sighed.

 _Make them leave_ , seethed Justice.

 _Hush_. Anders rubbed his forehead. _You're almost as annoying as they are._

There was something like laughter curling off the spirit, then he quieted. Anders smiled.

The step was light, musical in a way that sounded like the newcomer was strutting. Anders was intrigued enough to lift his head from where his arms crossed over his knees.

A man stood there – a mage – rocking on his heels, wearing white robes with gold trim and a grin beneath the most ridiculous mustache Anders had ever seen. Despite the mustache, he was gorgeous... and _smug about it_ , but still.

_Well now. This is a nice distraction._

“Hello, there.” The man gave a little bow with his head. “My name is Dorian Pavus. You must be Anders.”

“Are they just going through their list of mages, sending every single one of you down here to check on me?”

“No one sent me.” Dorian sauntered to the side of the room, arms crossed.

Earlier that morning, the Inquisitor had dragged a dining chair down to the dungeons.

“I want to hear your side,” she had said, sitting to converse with her latest prisoner. “I feel like I've heard your story from a dozen people already, but I want to hear the truth. Your truth.”

It was the first time Anders had ever been asked that.

Now, Dorian stepped to that same chair and lifted it, then winced, shifting it to his other hand before dragging it back to the bars. It was then that Anders noticed the other mage's neck and shoulder were covered in white bandages. They blended in with the elaborate silk robes at first glance. _Did he do that on purpose?_

Dorian planted the chair in front of the cell and sat in it, crossing his legs and lounging as if he was relaxing in a sitting room, not a drafty dungeon.

“I came because I was curious,” he said after a moment.

The prisoner lifted his head, quirked a grin. “Curious about the dashing villain they've locked up in their cells?”

“Dashing?” Dorian scoffed. “More like unwashed.”

Anders laughed. “Get them to bring a bath down here and I'll wash.” He winked. “Just for you, sweetheart.”

 _Well now,_ Dorian thought. He had not expected that. “You're awfully chipper for someone awaiting their trial.”

The humor left Anders' face and he dropped his chin onto his arms again. _For a second, I forgot._ “Might as well laugh in the face of death, right?” He tried to give the question some bravado, but it only came out sounding pathetic.

“Lahria won't kill you.” Dorian waved a dismissive hand, voice confident. “She didn't kill Alexius, and he had actually deserved it.”

“Are you saying I don't?”

Another dismissive wave of the hand, a practiced flourish. _What he must look like when he casts..._ “I'm not here to judge you. That's up to the Inquisitor.”

Anders snorted. “Hasn't stopped anyone else from judging me.”

The other man leaned forward, smirking again. “I'll have you know I am not 'everyone else,' thank you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Curiosity, like I said. And,” Dorian stood, pulling a book from behind his back and slipping it through the cell door, holding it out as if the bars weren't there at all. “I brought you something.”

Anders looked at the offering but didn't stand. “A book?”

“No. It's a snake.” The man rolled his eyes and wiggled the book, waving it in a figure eight. “I figured you'd be bored. Alexius was and-” He hissed in pain, dropping the book, flinching back and drawing his hand to his wound.

“I can fix that.” Anders nodded to the bandages covering Dorian's neck and shoulder.

“The healers already repaired the damage. Said there was nothing anyone could do for the pain and stiffness.”

Standing up, Anders did his best impression of Dorian's haughty accent. “I'll have you know that I am not 'anyone,' thank you.” Dorian gave him a look that made Anders laugh as he neared the bars. “Come here.”

“Don't let the guard see you-” But he gasped as Anders' fingers wrapped around Dorian's wrist and tender warmth flooded him, followed by cool relief, the pain vanishing instantly. It didn't have the same itchy, uncomfortable feeling accompanying most healers' work. It was relaxing. Gentle.

“Better?” Anders smiled.

Dorian flexed his shoulder, then peeled back the bandages to inspect the skin. “Much better.” There was awe in his voice as he tore the bandages from his skin and folded them neatly, tucking them away in a pocket.

Anders hadn't used magic in days, hadn't healed in month, and hadn't healed someone else in... he couldn't even remember when. It felt good, made him feel like himself again.

 _And who is that, exactly?_ A little voice in his head. Not Justice, just his own doubt. He dropped his eyes and saw the book there. He bent and delicately picked it up from the floor.

“I've read this one,” he said. “The author's tone is so _condescending_. I could barely stand it.”

Dorian's eyebrows rose. “Oh? I found some of his theories interesting.”

“Interesting, sure, if you can stand being preached at like a child in a Chantry day school.”

Dorian reached through the bars and plucked the book out of Anders' hand. “If you give me a minute, I can be back with a few dozen books you may or may not have read. We'll find something for you.”

Before Anders could tell him he didn't need to, the other mage was nearly to the stairs.

 

\---

 

“That's a good one. I cited it in my manifesto.”

Dorian choked on a laugh. “Your what?”

“My manifesto.” Anders squinted, looking away. He refused to be embarrassed. “On the rights of mages.”

They had drawn their chairs close together, bars between them, books all over the floor on either side. Dorian had not been exaggerating about the dozens.

“The rights of mages.” Dorian shook his head. “You Southerners and your charming bigotry and superstitious fear.”

Anders felt his lips fall open at the easy laugh of the other mage, at how he casually flipped through the pages and pursed his lips, setting his mustache wiggling. _Here is a man who's never had to hide what he is, who has never been feared, who's never been hunted, never been caged. No one has ever looked at this man and wanted to rip out the best part of him._ It was evident in his confidence, his assurance, his ability to step into a prison and make it something _more_ , make the bars between them feel like an open door. Anders could feel himself smiling. _The man was a miracle._

The man in question raised his grey-green eyes and looked at Anders through kohl-dusted lashes. He could practically _see_ the stars in the blond man's eyes, the wonder and awe softening his features. Dorian felt himself blush slightly under the force of that regard. _Why is he looking at me like that?_

“Yes, well,” he said, bending over to hide his darkening cheeks, picking up a thick volume wrapped in green leather. “What about this one?”

Anders blinked hard, taking the book from Dorian, ignoring his impulse to his fingers against the other man's as he did so. He tilted the spine so he could read it. “Ah, no. This one is new.”

“Ah-ha!” Dorian grinned, smug. “The Inquisition's library is a disaster. Truly it is. But I knew I'd find something you hadn't read.”

The door rattled open and both mages turned to see Cullen standing between two templars. He looked taken aback. “Dorian?”

“Yes, Commander?”

Cullen stepped to his friend's side. “What are you doing here?”

Dorian waved to the prisoner. “Making friends. And you?”

“It's... it's time.”

Anders swallowed.

“That was _quick_.” Dorian's voice had an edge. “Lavellan let Alexius rot down here for weeks.”

“Well, with such a high-profile prisoner...” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

“I see.” Dorian unfolded himself from the chair and stood back. “Looks like you're to have the VIP treatment.” The templars unlocked the cell and locked irons onto Anders' wrists. Dorian scoffed. “Is that really necessary?”

“He killed hundreds of innocents in the chantry explosion.” Cullen's voice was low and dark – a warning. “Not to mention being responsible for the deaths that happened in the battle afterward.”

Anders said nothing, face blank but jaw tense.

“Come now, that's hardly fair,” Dorian folded his arms over his chest. “You can't blame the man for what happened after.”

“Can't I?” Cullen snapped, and he glared at his friend a moment before standing down. “My apologies, Dorian, I-”

Dorian waved his apology off with a gesture. “It's up to the Inquisitor to judge him, not us.” He turned to Anders, then, offering a tense smile. “Lavellan is a good woman, Anders. She won't be cruel.”

The blond raised his head to meet the other's eyes. His voice was warm, sincere, as he said, “Thank you, Dorian, for the books.”

Then the templars led him out of the dungeon.


	3. Trial

The crowd that had gathered for his trial – _the rebel mage of Kirkwall_ – filled the main hall. Standing room only. As the templars – one too rough, the other too gentle – tugged him up the center of the crowd, he saw faces he recognized. Hawke and Varric stood by the wall, with Isabela beside them, all three faces tense and worried. Alistair was there, Bethany next to him in matching Warden gear.

Even with his head pounding in time with his racing heart, the nerves making his hands shake, he was glad to see Bethany whole, safe. Not wandering through the desert being driven mad by the calling.

Cullen walked before him, leading him to the dais where the Inquisitor sat. Lavellan had seemed a friendly, open person before, easy to talk to, but sitting on her throne, golden flames twisting behind her head, Anders knew why some spoke her name with such reverence.

She was a short, skinny, elven mage – and young, too – but she managed to shine with a holy light, even if she laughed off the title _Herald of Andraste_ and insisted there was nothing divine about her. She had a presence that wasn't exactly commanding or imposing, but was powerful nonetheless.

Justice crackled under his skin and he clenched his palms to hide the light.

 _What right has she to judge us?_ The spirit raged.

_She listened to our story. She took the time to understand. If anyone's to judge us, I'd rather it be her._

Justice seethed, rippling inside his chest.

The templars brought him to a stop just before the steps of the dais.

“Before you stands Anders, Grey Warden and companion of the Champion of Kirkwall. He is charged with apostacy, sedition, and blood magic. But his most heinous crime was that of the destruction of the chantry in Kirkwall, which he has admitted responsibility for.”

Anders stared at Lavellan's boots as the charges were read.

“Does the accused have anything to say in his defense?”

He looked up at Josephine, who gave him a nod. “I plead guilty of every thing you named except apostacy.” He shook his head. “I will not apologize for being born a mage, and I will not allow you to condemn me for it. But the rest – I did everything you named. Killing me-” His voice cracked and he swallowed. “Killing me would allow those whose deaths I am responsible for to receive the justice they deserve.”

Lahria Lavellan's clear voice cut over the mutterings of the crowd. “You want to die?”

Anders gave a shaky laugh. “No. But I know it would be right.”

The Inquisitor leaned forward on her throne, eyes intense on Anders'. “From what I hear, you are a gifted healer, a talented mage, and a passionate writer.” She folded her hands beneath her chin. “I've read your manifesto. It's powerful.”

He blinked, unsure how to answer.

“We found it in the home of a blood mage who used its message as an excuse to murder a dozen people and use them for dark rituals.”

Anders swallowed, wincing his eyes shut tight.

“However, you are not to blame for his crimes, and you are not the only mage who resisted Chantry control. The mages and templars were heading in this direction before the destruction of Kirkwall, and while you may have pushed it forward, you are not the sole cause of the mage rebellion.” She flicked her eyes to the side and Anders followed her gaze, seeing Cullen's hard look at the Inquisitor. “I have never condemned someone to death for their crimes. I prefer to put people to work, using their skills to undo the damage they have done.” She took a breath and stood, speaking to the crowd. “No one can bring back the lives of those who were lost. But by working with our healers to care for those who yet live, I feel you could work toward making up for what you have done.”

With a wave of her hands, the templars began to undo his bonds.

“Death will not be answered with more death. I sentence you to a lifetime of service. You will use your talents to help others, never to harm anyone again.”

Anders stared at his bare wrists, then stared at Lavellan. “I- you're what?”

The crowd, whispering to themselves, seemed to have the same question.

“You will be kept under guard until I trust that you are not a danger to the Inquisition. You are free to visit the mages, the healers' tents, and to assist with the magical research in the library. You can visit the dining hall and the barracks, but otherwise you are not to roam Skyhold without an escort. Do you understand?”

He blinked. “You're letting me live?”

“Yes. I am.”

A door slammed open and Anders turned to see the tail end of Cullen's red cape before the door closed behind him. Lavellan winced.

“This court is adjourned.”

 

\---

 

Lavellan stepped through the door leading to her room and leaned her head against the wood, breathing deep.

“Cole?” She asked to the semi-darkness.

The spirit stepped into the light. “I heard him.”

“And?”

He shook his head. “He won't hurt anyone else. He doesn't know your mages are free, but... once he knows, he'll be _so glad_.” Empathic happiness rang in his voice. “He'll _want_ to help, even if you hadn't made him.”

Lavellan smiled. “I thought so. But thank you, Cole.”

Cole smiled back. “I helped.”

“You did.” She tapped the brim of his hat, walking past him. “Now I need a nap. That was exhausting.”


	4. Sunshine

Dorian couldn't help smiling at the sight of the skinny blonde mage – clean, in new, soft clothes – standing in his library.

“Well, look at you! A free man.”

Anders gave a derisive snort. “They’ve only moved me to a bigger cage.” He gestured to the armed guard hovering near the stairs. “And now I come with a leash.”

Dorian chuckled. “It's only temporary. Alexius no longer has a leash.”

“Who is Alexius? This is the third time you've mentioned him.”

“Ah.” He ran a thumb along the spine of the book he was holding, focusing on it instead of Anders. “He was a prisoner, too. She sentenced him to help the mages he had attempted to enslave.” Before Anders could answer, Dorian waved his hand between them, brushing the subject aside. “You ran a clinic in Kirkwall, yes? How do you find our set up here?”

“It's alright. Adequately stocked, but there aren't enough workers for how many wounded you have.”

“Yes. Stopping Corypheus tends to be a bit hazardous to one's health.” Dorian grinned. “And the mage tower? Have you been there?”

“No.” Anders' voice was ice. “I don't plan on ever going there. I've had enough of Circles for one lifetime.”

Dorian furrowed his brow. “It's not a Circle. It's just... where the mages do their work.”

“Sequestered to one corner of Skyhold, watched by templars, kept by the Inquisition much as I am kept.” He snorted. “Sounds like a Circle to me.”

“No...” Dorian shook his head. “Lavellan had the chance to conscript the mages as her prisoners, but she offered them freedom. Anora banished them from Fereldan, so Lavellan took them in as friends, as... co-partners in the fight against Corypheus. You do know that she's a mage herself, yes? And while we do have a few templars, they're mostly here because they followed Cullen. And like Cullen, they have cut themselves off from the Order. Varric's been working his contacts to get them a steady supply of lyrium under the Chantry's nose. It's ruffled more than a few feathers.”

“Then... the mages here...”

“Are as free as they can be, with all the chaos. They're given a voice, trusted to govern themselves. The Inquisitor and Fiona meet regularly to discuss things.”

“When she sent templars to escort me to my trial, I assumed-”

“I think that was more Cullen's doing than hers.” Dorian winced. “He has been rather vocal about what he felt should be done with you.”

Anders drew a hand over his face, soft laughter and a smile. “It seems I misjudged your Inquisitor.

An answering grin. “Most people do.”

 

\---

 

"I never expected to survive it," Anders had told the Inquisitor the morning before his trial. "I was so sure they would kill me where I stood when they knew. If it wasn't Meredith, it would have been Fenris, or Sebastian." He drew in a breath, picked at his nails. "But I lived."

"A second chance?" Lavellan had suggested, her arms crossed over her chest, sitting stiffly in the chair on the other side of his bars.

The mage shook his head. "A half-life. Constantly running. Most of the mages who were left were too afraid of me. I spent the last three years wandering from place to place, trying not to get captured again."

"What would you have rather done? If you had been given the chance?"

Anders met her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean if I give you a second chance, a true chance. What would you do with it?"

He gaped at her. "I... don't know."

"We could use you. You're a Warden. You've fought Corypheus before, with Hawke. You felt his Calling. Your expertise could be valuable."

 _Information_. He was good for that at least. "I will tell you whatever you need to know."

"Good." She nodded. "I'll have Warden Alistair meet with you-"

"And Bethany?" He asked.

Lavellan paused. "And Bethany, sure."

Anders nodded. "Thank you."

 

\---

 

When Bethany finally saw him, she threw her arms around him, sinking her face into his shoulder, crying.

 _Sunshine_ , Varric called her. Anders held her tight, tears on his own face.

"I'm glad you're okay," he whispered into her hair. The taint in his blood sang to that in her as they hugged each other.

"As am I. For you, that is. I'm so glad you're okay. Even if-" She shook her head. "Even after everything."


	5. Kirkwall and Kittens

Hawke was practicing her dagger work with Cole, in Skyhold's courtyard, both showing the other new tricks. Anders was folding linens, his hands moving automatically as he stared out the window at them.

It was hard being around her after so long. Feelings he thought he'd buried kept flickering to the surface, memories he thought he was rid of.

Kirkwall was a dark place, but it had one bright, beautiful thing in it.

Anders had been in love with her since the first time he met her.

Only Justice had held him back, and the knowledge that Anders had nothing to offer her.

And then it was too late. She had chosen Fenris.

Fenris who left her - after she had suffered so much already, the elf had given her one yet another loss to mourn. He _left her._ And Anders knew, down to the marrow in his bones, that nothing but death would keep him from her side if he had the chance that Fenris had thrown away.

Hawke had sat in his clinic in Kirkwall, her arms around herself, for days. She didn't speak much or ask for anything, just drew comfort from Anders' presence.

Comfort he was more than willing to give.

Then she had offered him hope. Fenris had had his chance and given it up and she was there, eyes on _him_ for once. Mouth on _his_ for once. Her hands in his hair.

It took everything in him to pull back. _You deserve better._

But then her door had been open, and he couldn't convince himself not to take what she was offering.

After, he couldn't stop holding her, his face pressed between her shoulder blades, heart singing and light. _I love her. I love her. I love her._ He had convinced himself he didn't, refused to listen to the pounding of his heart when he ran his hands over her skin to heal her, when she threw one of those brilliant smiles his way.

But she was there in his arms. She was _his_.

 _Hawke_.

He woke with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest and he never wanted to move again. As he ran his fingers through her hair, he let himself dream of a future, a world where she would stand beside him. His heart had ached with how badly he wanted it.

And then she woke up.

Words like _I'm sorry. I'm not ready. I care for you but. Still not over him. Need time. I'm so sorry._

He had been so stupid to believe someone like her would ever want to be with him.

 

\---

 

When Fenris came back, she had all but thrown herself into his arms at the first hint that he might want her.

And Anders had dug his nails into his fists so hard it drew blood.

 

\---

 

“Excuse me, Serah?” A timid voice drew him out of his thoughts and back to Skyhold, out of the past and back to the present.

He blinked, realizing he'd been staring out the window for an age. The herbs he was grinding had nearly turned to powder. Maker.

“Yes?” He cleared his throat. “Sorry, got distracted.”

The young woman smiled gently. “A young man wanted me to tell you...” Her brow creased. “Something about Tabitha.” She rubbed at her forehead. “It was the boy in the hat. He's very hard to remember.”

Anders scratched his jaw. “I'm afraid I don't know...”

“Tabitha!” Her face lit up. “Not the girl, the cat! He wants you to go to the tavern.”

“I'm not sure I'm allowed to go to the tavern.” Anders didn't look at her face as he said it.

“It's alright,” this from another girl, even younger, with unblinking brown eyes. Justice jumped in surprise at the sight of her. _What's wrong?_ But the spirit was quiet.

The new girl turned to his guard. “Excuse me? Cole needs Anders to go to the tavern. That's alright, isn't it?”

The guard cleared his throat. “Cole?”

“Varric's friend.”

“Varric! Ah, yes. If Varric's okayed it, then I'm sure it's fine.”

The girl nodded. “Then let's go!”

Anders followed after them, bewildered.

 

\---

 

The guard was happy to speak with his friends while the girl – Amy, it turns out – lead him up to the attic, where a skinny boy in a very large hat was wringing his hands over a box.

“I'm Cole,” he said brusquely, “You have to help her.”

Anders looked at Amy, expecting to see some signs of distress, but she pointed at the box.

It was then that Anders heard yowling.

Anders knelt beside the boy and saw the cat was giving birth. “Oh!” He raised his eyebrows. “Normally they work this sort of thing out by themselves.”

“ _Too soon. Wrong. Backwards. Twisting_.” Cole rocked back on his heels. “Please, Anders.”

 _Compassion_ , said Justice.

Anders blinked, trying to keep up with everything.

 _The boy is a spirit_ , Anders' own spirit explained.

“Can you get hot water and some rags?” Anders asked, rolling up his sleeves. Cole nodded, then... vanished.

Anders blinked again.

“He does that. Don't worry, he'll be back.” Amy came to settle beside him. “What else do you need?”

 

\---

 

Together, with a large dose of Anders' healing magic, they managed to help Tabitha the cat deliver a healthy litter of kittens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amy/Cole and Tabitha are all from my fic [Cupid's Arrow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3098117/chapters/6711941)! :3


	6. Wonderful

Anders made a point of stopping by the library at least once every few days when Dorian was at Skyhold. While those at the clinic were growing to respect his skills and dedication, and his guards had stopped being truly afraid he'd do something, Anders had few friends at Skyhold.

His friends from Kirkwall still spoke to him, and were even warm towards him, but there was a distance there. Anytime there was a lull in the conversation, it felt like they were both thinking of _what he had done_. It was hard enough dealing with Justice and his own thoughts and memories. It was harder to confront people who had known him _before_.

The thought almost made him laugh. Anders' life could be divided into even parts.

_Before the Circle._

_Before the Wardens._

_Before Justice._

_Before Hawke._

_Before the Chantry._

Would he look back someday and think of the last few years as being “ _Before the Inquisition?_ ”

 _Probably_. Anders sighed, shaking his head and climbing the stairs to the library.

Dorian always treated him the exact same way he treated everyone. He was cocky, smart, playful, and though he covered it up with bluster and preening, he cared about people.

 _He's wonderful,_ Anders thought before quickly shoving the idea away.

 _I heard that,_ Justice groused.

_Sorry._

But then he had reached the second floor and seen a pair of overly shiny boots crossed at the ankle, tapping a complicated rhythm against each other, and he was already smiling.

“Hello, Dorian.” Maker, you sound like a child.

“Ah! If it isn't our very own spirit healer.” He nodded at the guard trailing behind Anders. “Complete with bodyguard.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Strapping young thing, isn't he?”

Anders chuckled. “I have a feeling I'm being used to punish young recruits who step out of line.”

“Means they don't really see you as a threat.” Dorian shrugged one shoulder. “It's a good sign.”

A slight pause, then Anders said – too quick, too excited - “Do you like cats?”

Dorian wrinkled his very aristocratic nose. “I knew someone in Tevinter who owned a leopard she walked everywhere on a gold leash. I'm assuming you meant more of the flea-ridden, mice-eating variety.”

Anders laughed. “Yes. Cats.”

“No, I do not particularly like cats.”

“Dogs, then?”

The wrinkled nose became an outright snarl of disgust. “ _Fasta vass._ No.”

“Yesterday I helped Cole... do you know Cole? Skinny boy, big hat?”

Dorian's disgust melted away into a pleased sort of surprise. “Yes, I know Cole. I consider him a good friend.”

“Good. I've found that half the time, if I mention Cole, people look at me like they have no idea what I'm talking about.”

The other mage nodded. “People forget him. Most remember the hat, though.”

“Well, yesterday I helped Cole deliver a litter of kittens. They can't be away from their mother for a few more weeks, but when they're weened, I had thought to bring one to you.”

Dorian blinked, smiling in spite of himself. “You were going to give me a kitten?” There was a warm note in the man's voice that made Anders lean closer to his chair.

“I thought you might like company up here. Cats are excellent companions.”

Dorian was searching for a way to tell Anders that no, he very much _did not_ need a feline companion, while still trying to express, at least a little, of how touched he was that Anders had thought to give him one.

“No one has ever tried to give me a pet before. My father bought me a horse when I was old enough to ride, but that hardly counts. A horse wasn't about to snuggle up in my lap. Nevertheless, I-”

A door opening and a chorus of “Inquisitor”s and “Lady Herald”s made both men look up.

“There you are.” Lahria Lavellan held up a piece of paper, her face grave. “There's something I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Dorian rose from his seat. “Is something wrong?”

“Not exactly.” She unfolded and refolded the paper. “You got a letter.”

A light chuckle. “Going through my mail now, Inquisitor? Isn't that Josephine's job?”

Lavellan licked her lips. “Please. You'll want to see this.” When Dorian didn't immediately leave to follow her, she sighed. “It's from your father.”

“My father?” Dorian's entire body went rigid. “What does _he_ want?”

The Inquisitor held up the letter. “Come on, let's talk privately.”

Dorian tossed a worried glance at his friend, then left.

Anders didn't see him again until they had come back from Redcliffe.


	7. Redcliffe

_For your fucking legacy_. Dorian stared at the woodgrain of the table. _You're not my son. He wishes he hadn't meant it._

_Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend your life screaming on the inside._

He put his head in his hands, fingers digging into his hair and he let out a hard breath. _It's been a long day._

“I heard you were back,” said Anders, dropping into the seat across the table and the open bottle in front of Dorian. There was joy in the other man's voice, and it made Dorian lean toward him across the table. He winced and sat up in his chair.

“Did you hear the rest of it?” He glared hard out the window.

“The rest of what?”

Dorian sighed. “My father...” He finally looked at the other mage, at the warm brown eyes that had been trained on him since the day of his trial. A hundred flirtations between sharing books and discussing his homeland and magical theories and when the man cleaned up he was lovely, and _oh_ , that open admiration in his eyes felt _so good_ , a warmth curling under Dorian's ribs. He had been slowly turning, orienting himself in the man's direction these past few weeks, a compass tilting north.

“Dorian?”

“I prefer the company of men,” he said. “Exclusively.”

“Okay.” There was a light blush along the blond's cheekbones, but no surprise, no horror. _Here is a man who's never had to hide his affections, who has never been shamed for them, who's never been called a monster by his own family. No one has ever looked at this man and wanted to change who he is just to keep him in line._ It was evident in his openness, his gentle kindness, his ability to make his flirty, friendly comments to Dorian without having to wrap it in a hundred layers of sarcasm. His natural response to others was to give – of himself, his time, his abilities, his friendship. Dorian nearly smiled. _The man was like honey in your tea. Warm and sweet and good._

“You Southerners,” Dorian sighed. “In Tevinter, things are different. Acceptance for mages but not for... other things, other tastes.”

“Oh.” Anders put his hands on the table, picked at his nails. “What does this have to do with your father?”

“He disapproved more than most. It's...” Dorian huffed and took a drink from the bottle in front of him. “Look, I feel like I've talked about this more than enough for one day. What I need right now is comfort.” He glared at the bottle. “Something _else_ to think about.”

Anders' voice was gentle. “Can I help?”

Something hot and dark rose up in Dorian's chest at the sound of the other man's voice.

He stood up and walked around the table, leaning his hip against it as he looked down at Anders.

“You're free to say no, you know. I won't be offended. But I...” He grinned as he leaned over the blond, still sitting, face tilted up at him, lips parted. _Fasta vas, you are lovely._ “You've been flirting with me since the moment I met you.” He dropped his eyes to Anders' mouth, which had gasped slightly. He leaned forward, slowly closing the distance between them. “Scrappy, unwashed apostate with cat hair all over his robes. But you had a mouth on you, and so much _fire.”_ On the last word, he pressed his lips to Anders', a light suggestion of a kiss, giving him the space to answer.

But the blond had his hands on Dorian's face in a heartbeat, tugging him to his mouth and standing, their bodies coming together, arms around each other. Anders held him tight, but the kiss itself was tender. Something in the way his fingers curled up into Dorian's hair, holding hard as he kissed him sweet and soft made emotion plummet through him, made Dorian slow to open his eyes again when they pulled away.

“Lead the way, Serah,” said Anders, grinning, as Dorian tried to catch his breath.


	8. Allowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely slight smut ahead! lol.

Dorian's rooms were sumptuous in a way that the rest of Skyhold was not.

“It's not much,” he said, waving a hand to light the candles.

“It's more than I've got.”

“Ah, yes.” He swept back to the other mage. “Benefits of being in the _Inner Circle_.” He said the phrase with sarcasm, but Anders knew he was proud of his position. It made him reach for the other mage, pulling him by his hips and drawing him in deep for another kiss.

Each kiss was over too soon, not enough, and Anders' hands clung to him, sucking Dorian's lip into his mouth when he tried to pull away. He never wanted to let the man go.

Dorian couldn't remember the last time someone had handled him this way, like they were desperate, drowning. Every kiss like begging for more.

 _Don't be ridiculous,_ Dorian, he chided himself. _Today has been emotional and you're seeking meaning where there is none. Don't let your vulnerability make you stupid._

Dorian tugged Anders' robes open, letting his thigh slip between the other man's legs.

The blond gasped, fingers gripping Dorian's robes and he grinned, loving the way he clung to him.

Then he felt fumbling hands tugging at his buckles, and a huff of frustration near his ear. “You'd better undo these fancy buckles, or I might have to rip those pretty robes to get them off of you.”

Dorian chuckled. “You would never.”

With a few deft movements, the buckles were undone, the robes a silky pool on the floor, and Anders' face was lighting up like a sunrise at the sight of his naked body.

 _By the gods, I just want him to look at me forever._ “Your turn.” Dorian found his voice was a little rougher than he'd like. He reclined on the bed, angling to show himself in the best light.

None of it was necessary. Anders' robes came in layers, and his hands were nearly shaking with his speed to pull them off. The moment his body hit the bed, he was reaching for Dorian, hand tangling in his hair, the other roaming over his shoulders, his chest.

“Dorian,” he breathed between kisses. “You're magnificent.”

“I know,” he smirked, but warmth flooded him all the same.

Kisses down his chest and a quick tug of magic in the air, then warm slick across a wide palm and- “Oh gods,” he groaned.

“How do you feel about electricity?” Anders nibbled at his ear.

“What?” Dorian had very few opinions at the moment besides _yes_ , and _oh_ , and _more_.

A low laugh against his skin as Anders' lips trailed down his neck. “Like this.”

Anders pulled more magic and suddenly there were tingles and sparks and Dorian was thrusting his hips against the other man's hand. “What was _that_?”

Another low laugh, tongue swirling around one nipple. “It's a secret.”

Dorian was breathless. “Do it again.”

“I'll do it as often as you like. Just for you, sweetheart.”

It was several shots of electricity later that Anders pulled Dorian's hips closer to his and slowly, tentatively, wrapped them both together in one of his hands.

“Is this alright?” He whispered to Dorian.

 _I'm using him_. The thought came unbidden. _I'm ever single bit the depraved, sick, twisted man my father believes me to be_. Dorian pulled back suddenly, to be met with wide, bewildered brown eyes that quickly flicked from surprise, to uncertainty, to disappointment.

_Kaffas. Say something._

"Do you want to stop?" Anders asked, softly, not meeting Dorian's eyes.

He really didn't. At all. "No." Dorian was hurt, and needy, and being incredibly selfish, but he had wanted Anders for a while - that was even more true now that he knew what he felt like, what he tasted like, what those slender hands could do. _Gods_. "I just realized I was being a bit selfish, letting you do all the work."

Anders met his eyes again, a smile curving up as he drew a thumb across Dorian's cheek. "You've had an awful day. You're allowed to be selfish."

Soft emotion opened up in Dorian at those words and that touch. He tipped Anders over and slid down the bed so he wouldn't have to look into his eyes again. He outlined Anders' bones with his lips and hands, a curl of collarbone, elegant ribs, and hips like wings.

 _You’re allowed to be selfish_.

Dorian took the other man in his mouth slowly, tracing patterns on the underside with his tongue.

 _Not with you_ , he thought, rubbing circles on Anders' hips with his thumbs. _I want to be good for you._

He used every trick he knew, pushing Anders to the edge then pulling back, grinning as the blonde gripped his own hair and moaned _Dorian_ in a tone that grew closer to whimper with every breath.

When Anders finally came, he arched his back off the bed, voice high with joy as he shouted “Dorian!” His hands lightly gripped Dorian's hair before pulling back, blue-white lightning erupted on Anders' skin. It tasted like the cold breath of the Fade, like magic. Dorian jerked back, gaping as the light faded. "What-"

"It's Justice," Anders panted. "It happens sometimes."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Is it... a good thing?"

Breathy laughter under Dorian's hands as he rubbed them, flat-palmed, over Anders' sides. "Not always. But in this case, yes. It means..." He laughed again, more open and unreserved than Dorian had ever seen. "It means he felt it too."

"Are you implying I just made _Justice_ moan my name as well?"

Anders's cheeks burned red but he gave Dorian a wobbly smile. "Yes?"

 _Interesting_. Dorian leaned back on his knees and gave a grin. "Never made a spirit come before."

"Want to see if you can do it again?"

Another raised eyebrow. "Again? So soon?"

"Warden stamina." Anders laughed. "Surely you've heard of it."

Now both eyebrows were raised. _Very interesting_.


	9. The Morning After You

The sun slanted through Dorian's shutters, drawing bright fire-white streaks of morning over the sleeping mage. Anders couldn't help smiling at how the daylight curved contour lines over Dorian's back, his arms, his sleep-tousled hair.

 _Glorious._ That was the only word for him. _And now... he's chosen me_. Anders took in a warm breath, biting his lip to keep from reaching out and drawing his thumb along the curves of Dorian's face.

 _Dorian_. Even his name was beautiful.

The man in question stirred, rolling slightly and peeking at Anders beneath his elbow. “You're still here?” He asked.

All the light feelings in Anders chest froze, brittle and cold. “Yes?” _Should I not be?_

Dorian made a grumpy noise and flipped so his back was to the other mage. “If you were looking for breakfast in bed, you've bedded the wrong man.”

Anders laughed, hard and too loud. “Not a morning person, then?”

“No.”

They were quiet for the space of a few minutes before Dorian flipped back over, frowning at Anders. “I plan on sleeping until noon, or until someone drags me out of here to go kill something. It will be quite boring, I assure you.”

Anders punched the pillow, fluffing it up. His heart was pounding. _Fear_. He didn't know what to say. “Do you want me to go?”

“I can't sleep with you staring at me.”

Anders swallowed, slipping out of the sheets. “Sorry.”

Dorian hunched down in the blankets and said nothing as Anders gathered his clothes, got dressed, and left.

 

\----

 

That afternoon, Dorian found Anders in his clinic. Dorian’s heart fluttered in his chest, nervous trembling in every part of him. He hadn’t slept with anyone in over a year. And kaffas, this was a man he _liked_.

_And I was an ass on top of everything else._

He had wanted someone to care for him, to be gentle and sweet to him, to hold him close and kiss him slow and make him feel, just for a little while, that maybe someone loved him. His heart had been breaking since Redcliffe. He just wanted someone to hold the pieces together for a little while.

But then he'd woken up and all he wanted was to be alone.

 _I am the worst kind of ass._ He took a breath, steeling himself, then pushed open the door of his clinic.

“I'm sorry about this morning,” Dorian started before Anders could even say hello. “I'm a complete beast before ten o’clock.”

Anders smiled, happy that the man had come to see him. “I would agree with that. I have to admit I was a bit worried.” Worried was an understatement. He'd been distracted all morning, heart pounding. _What did I do wrong?_

“I know, I was terrible.” Dorian rubbed his forehead. _Smiling is a good sign. At least he’s still speaking to me._ “I'd had a rather emotional day, and just... I might not have been thinking straight.”

“About last night? Or this morning?”

“Both?” Dorian winced, begging in his mind. _Don’t make things awkward between us. Don’t push me away after. Please._

“Oh.” Anders turned back to basin of water he was using to clean instruments. He absently swirled the water, not looking up.

“I dislike complications,” Dorian began. “You're one of my few friends here, and I don't want to lose that.” _You. I don't want to lose you because of one stupid, selfish night._

Another slosh of the water. “Friends, hm?”

“I'd hoped we were friends, yes.”

“Just friends?” The blond risked a glance up at the other man.

A whisper of something soft lit in Dorian’s chest. _He can’t possibly want… No, Dorian. Stop._ He threw up his hands. “What do you want from me? A relationship?”

 _If he says yes..._ Dorian stamped out the thought.

Anders dropped his eyes to the basin, gripping the edge tight, gritting his teeth. The way Dorian said _relationship_ , his voice all sarcasm and cruel laughter. _Like the idea was ridiculous._

“Where I come from, anything between two men is for pleasure only. You be a fool to hope for more.”

_A fool._

The words felt like daggers in Anders' gut. _Maker, Anders, you're an idiot._

“So... you see?” _Nothing has to change._ There was a plaintive note to Dorian's voice, and Anders looked up to see concern on his features.

_I don't want to jeopardize our friendship._

Anders took a breath, gathering himself. “Of course. I'm sorry. I'm just... tired.” He wiped his hands on a towel. “There's a lot of work to do.” He braved a smile.

Dorian's eyes were wide, his eyebrows tilted up in the middle, mouth drawn downwards. _Something is wrong._ “Anders?”

“It's fine, Dorian. Nothing has to change between us.” He held out his now-dry hand. “Friends, then?”

“Friends.” Dorian slid his palm against the other man's and it took all the resolve Anders had not to cling tight, pull Dorian closer, kiss him one last time.

 

\---

 

Dorian climbed onto his horse beside the Inquisitor, running his thumb over the reins.

“It's better this way,” he muttered in Tevene. “Better to do it now, before I fall for the man.”

“Hm?” Lahria Lavellan asked. “Dorian, did you say something?”

Dorian scowled. “I can't believe you talked me into going to the Storm Coast again,” he grumbled. “Didn't we get enough of damp and soggy in Crestwood?”

She smirked. “Is there any place you _don't_ complain about?”

“Val Royeaux was nice.”

Lahria rolled her eyes.

_Why am I so disappointed?_

 

\---

 

Anders sat on his bed, forehead on his knees, eyes hot.

 _He should have made his intentions clear beforehand,_ Justice said in his mind. _It was perfectly reasonable to expect it meant more. He shouldn't have just assumed-_

“Leave it alone, Justice,” Anders whispered.

_No. I won't let you hate yourself over this. Especially when it's his fault._

Anders shook his head. “He was emotional. I knew that when he kissed me. What was it he said? He needed comfort. It's my fault. I should have known that he-” His voice broke. _He wouldn't want me after._

_Anders, stop it. The man's an asshole._

That startled a laugh from him. “He's not.”

_He is. Next time I see him, I'm going to-_

“You are going to sit quietly and let me handle it.”

Justice seethed. _The way he's treated you is entirely unfair._

Anders shook his head again, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. “It's fine. Really.”

_It's not._

But the spirit said no more on the subject, and Anders let himself wallow, a handful more tears escaping before he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Justice doesn't approve of my obsession with you." I've seen a lot of people take that to mean Justice is anti-relationships or anti-sex. But when I started writing him and Anders, I realized it's more that Justice is _very protective_ of Anders. He's Anders' own personal champion. And Justice saw that Anders was spending THREE YEARS pining after Hawke, who showed very little interest in returning his affections besides minor flirting, and might have been sleeping with other members of the group depending how you played them, and Anders was IN LOVE with Hawke, and Justice was very "(S)he doesn't deserve you. Focus on something else. Don't waste all your time pining. Come on, stop this." Because the one-sided starry-eyed affection Anders had for Hawke seemed very UNFAIR to Justice, and he would not stand for that. At all. :P


	10. Shadow

There were rumors of someone wiping out the Venatori along the Northern coast. The reports varied, from describing the killings as heroic, rescuing villagers from villains who had invaded their homes, to disturbing tales of a mass-murderer who left a trail of broken bodies on his wake.

“What are we going to do once we find this person?” asked Dorian.

“We're either going to take him back to Skyhold for judgment, or...” Lavellan shrugged. “Help him. So far he's only targeted Venatori and left the villagers completely alone. I'm hoping that means he's on our side.”

“So far, all we seem to be doing is following in his wake,” Zevran pointed out as they inspected another camp of slaughtered Venatori for clues.

“There!” Cassandra shouted from where she stood on the edge of a cliff. In the valley below, two groups of Venatori were closing in on a lone warrior in black leather who never stopped moving, giant sword swinging, a glow of magic on his skin.

Zevran whistled low. “Impressive.”

“He's outnumbered,” barked Cassandra, glaring at the cliff face. “How do we get down?”

By the time they found a path that wouldn't break their necks, there was only one mage left. The warrior dodged his spells and took him down with a hard thrust of his sword.

When the streak of dark and silver finally stopped moving, blood dripping off his blade, he turned and looked directly at the group before him.

“You're with the Inquisition?” He asked.

Cassandra answered him. “Yes, we are.”

“Good.” He straightened, swiping the hair out of his eyes. “Take me to Skyhold.”

Lavellan let out a startled laugh, “What?”

“I wish to join this Inquisition. Take me to Skyhold.”

Zevran and Dorian exchanged a look.

“You know, you could have just... dropped by. There was no need to get our attention with all of this,” Lavellan gestured at the corpses.

He shrugged. “I was already doing 'all of this.' Though I've made a point to start doing it in your direction.”

“What is it you're doing, exactly? Killing anyone who you happen to come across? Or just Venatori?” Dorian asked.

The man grew tense, lifting his sword slightly. “Your accent's Tevene.”

Dorian rocked back on his heels and said slowly, “As is yours.”

“Altus.” He spat the word, then snarled a long string of Tevene that made Dorian take an actual step back.

“Hey!” Lavellan stepped between them. “If you really expect us to take you back to Skyhold with us, I'd suggest not picking fights with my companions.”

The elf grunted at that, then put his sword away. “My name is Fenris.”

The entire group seemed to gasp in unison.

“Fenris?” Cassandra began, “As in Hawke's-”

“Yes,” Fenris cut her off. “And Hawke is at Skyhold.”

He said it like a question, and Cassandra got _that look_ on her face, the one she only got when talking about Varric's books.

“Yes, she is.”

 

\---

 

Leliana stepped to Hawke and handed her a roll of paper.

“What's this?” Hawke unfurled it, tilting it to catch the light from the window.

“I don't know. It came with a note from the Inquisitor – 'tell Hawke I'm bringing her a present.' ”

“A present?” She frowned at the paper, then her eyes went wide. “Oh shit.”

“You can make it out? It's the worst handwriting I've ever seen, like a child wrote it.”

“Shit,” she said again. “ _Shit._ ”

 

\---

 

Hawke sat at the foot of Varric's bed, her arms around her knees, hiding her face.

“You didn't even tell him you were going?”

“I left a note!”

“Andraste's tits, woman.”

“If I'd told him I was leaving, he would never have let me go!”

Varric sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “You can't hide in my room forever. He's going to show up any day-”

A fist banged on the door, and a low voice said, “Hawke.”

“Or today.” Varric gave his friend an apologetic look.

The door opened and Fenris stood in the doorway, his gaze narrowing on Hawke immediately.

Varric held his hands up, palms up in surrender, and edged out the door.

They held each others' gaze until the door closed, then Hawke squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders hunched, bracing herself.

And Fenris stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and nearly dragging her off the bed with the force of his embrace.

“Fenris-”

“You're alive.” He pressed his face into her shoulder.

She breathed him in and found herself on the verge of the tears.

He pulled away and the look on his face broke her heart. “You left me.”

“I just wanted to keep you safe. I didn't want you mixed up in this, I-”

“Hawke.” His grip on her grew harder. “Did you really think I wouldn't come after you?”

She blinked hard, wanting to hold him now that he was here. Her hands hovered over him. “Can I-”

“Promise me you will never do that again.” Fenris rested his forehead on hers. “I can't wake up and have you gone again. Promise me.”

Her voice was small as she said, “I promise.”

“Then yes, you can.”

She pulled him close to her, holding him tight and finally crying as she rained kisses on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fenris in this story is touch-averse because... that's kind of the only way I can picture him being? I wrote more about it in a tiny ficlet [A Way to Be Together](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3276434). But that's why she always asks before touching him.


	11. Adamant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dislike writing stuff everyone already knows. So... off we go to Adamant!

They took him back to where they found him. The Western Approach. With every step, the Calling grew louder and his hands tightened on the reigns.

“I know,” said Bethany. “I hear it too.”

Anders was outfitted with Warden gear. It felt heavy, wrong though it fit perfectly – that felt wrong, too. Justice was exultant, eager to fight alongside the others to stop the Wardens from their pointless sacrifices.

In the back of his mind, he heard the Calling, so much stronger now that they were close to the source, an itching in his skull.

 _Focus_ , barked Justice. _Listen to me, not it._

 _Then talk to me._ Anders was jumpy, weary before they had even reached the battlefield.

 _They're letting you out of Skyhold_ , said Justice. _They must trust you._

_Apparently I have Cole's stamp of approval. I didn't know they had a mind-reader around, but it seems the guard is no longer entirely necessary, since Cole says I won't hurt anyone._

_Compassion_ , answered Justice. _A weak spirit, but a noble one._

 

\---

 

Adamant fortress was crawling with demons.

Fenris and Anders stuck by Hawke, falling into their old patterns of defense and healing, keeping her safe and protected to the best of their abilities. It felt good, like coming home, and Anders tried not to like it as much as he did.

But then there was fire, a dragon. They ran through the fortress, all of them. Alistair and Bethany in their blue and silver gear, the Inquisitor and her team leading the charge.

It was all Anders could do to keep up.

And then the dragon was before them, advancing on them. There was nowhere they could go.

“This is it,” Anders whispered.

 _No_. Justice answered in his mind. _This is not the end._

Anders smirked. _We’re powerful, but I’m not sure we can take on a dragon._

Justice flared at that, the mage’s skin glowing softly.

Then there was an explosion and the dragon fell, the ground falling away with it.

“Alistair!” He heard the Inquisitor shouting as they ran. Time seemed to slow. His feet wouldn’t move fast enough, and then they slipped on the broken ground and he fell to his knees, gravity grasping at him with greedy hands.

As he scrabbled for purchase on the stones, he felt Justice roar inside him, his hands crackling with blue light. “No!” He heard his own mouth shout with Justice’s voice. “Anders, I will not let you die!”

The spirit clung to the crumbling battlement, using his magic to pull them upward, but it was no use.

They fell.

“Anders!” His own mouth cried out again, skin glowing brighter than before.

He saw the world around him go green, his eyes burning bright around the edges.

Then Justice took complete control of his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more of Hawke & Co. at Adamant/the Fade, these chapters line up perfectly with [Ch. 16 & 17 in my Cole-centric fic, Cupid's Arrow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3098117/chapters/7537598), since these fics are supposed to happen simultaneously.


	12. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahead! :c

The Fade swirled green around them. Justice found it both familiar and strange to be here in Anders' body instead of his own natural form.

And Compassion's incessant panic was making it worse.

“Compassion!” Justice snapped at the spirit boy. “The sooner we get moving, the sooner we can get out of here.”

“Sorry…” He moaned, clutching his hat.

“Hey.” Varric stood between them. “Take it easy on the kid.”

Justice stared at the boy, blue fire in his eyes, then nodded. “Stay close to me, Compassion. I’ll keep you safe.”

Varric bit down on a smile, trying not to laugh. “Can Blondie hear us when you’re all…” He waved his hands emphatically.

“Perhaps. Why?”

“Tell him I missed you.”

Anders’ face crinkled in Justice's frown. “Why?”

The dwarf shrugged, and slipped an arm through Cole’s to keep him steady. “No reason.”

 

\---

 

“Did you think anything you did mattered, Hawke?” The Nightmare’s voice went on and on. Hawke gritted her teeth, glaring.

Fenris interrupted it, shouting, “What, nothing for me, demon?” He swung his sword through the face of one of the Fog warriors the demon had conjured. Spiders for the Inquisitor. He wondered who Hawke saw.

The demon laughed, rolling thunder. “How noble, distracting me with all your darkness. But it won’t be enough. I’ll still kill her.”

He swore. “I won’t let you.”

More of the laughter. “Or maybe I’ll make _you_ kill her.”

Suddenly the demons around him transformed into Hawke. All of them. Dozens of them. He couldn’t tell the real Hawke from the copies.

“Fenris!” He heard her voice shouting over the clash of fighting. “It isn’t real. Don’t just stand there. You’re going to get killed.”

And suddenly one of them was in front of him, her own blade cutting through the others in a wide arc. He stood, stunned, as she killed her doubles, her own blood dripping off her armor.

 _Surely this one is real_ , he thinks as she spins to face him. “That’s better,” she says, grinning. “Now-“ Her face registers shock and she stares down at a blade protruding from her chest.

“No!” Fenris’ voice is raw as he reaches for her, but she dissolves, melts around the lifted blade, and his hands move through sticky ichor instead.

On the other end of the blade, holding it strong and true, is another Hawke, breathing heavy, eyes worried.

“Arms?” She asks, lowering her sword, and he knows it’s her. _Really_ her.

He can’t even speak to say yes, just throws himself at her, dropping his blade and clutching her fiercely to him. She doesn’t hold him back, just leans her face against his hair. “Hold me,” he whispers, and she finally does.

“How touching,” booms the Nightmare. “But I’m still going to kill her.”

His Hawke, real and solid in his arms, whispers, “Stay by me. We’ll fight back to back. Then it can’t trick you.”

 

\---

 

“Justice,” hissed the nightmare. “Or should I call you Vengeance now?”

“Quiet, demon!” the spirit shouted.

“Demon, is it? That’s rich, coming from you.”

 

\---

 

They all fought the Nightmare, in the end, all of them flashing blades and swirling staves until they had defeated it, but then... then there was a larger demon, a monster none of them could face, even if they worked together, even if they had all been at their full strength instead of barely surviving the last battle.

Hawke and Alistair each shouted to be left behind.

Fenris glared daggers at his Hawke. “Don't you _dare_.”

“You'd rather the Wardens be left leaderless?”

“Yes!” Fenris shouted, and his voice broke despite the anger on his face. “If the alternative is losing you, then yes. That is what I choose.”

Varric and Bethany were gaping at her with wide eyes, too, and Alistair shook his head. “I won't ask you all to sacrifice someone you clearly love. It has to be me.”

Lahria's eyes flicked between the two of them. “Warden Brosca wrote to me, Alistair. I know you're loved just as deeply.”

Pain crossed his face, but he shook it off. “Then you can tell her why I had to do this.”

The demon screeched loud, coming closer.

“We don't have time for this!” thundered an unexpected voice.

Everyone turned to see Anders – Justice, in this place – crackling with blue energy, fists clenched.

“None of you are going to die.”

“What are you-”

Before Lahria could finish the question, Justice fell to one knee, arms crossed over his chest in an X, then threw them outward. A blue form, hazy and indistinct, separated from Anders' body, hovering in the air in front of him.

Anders collapsed to the ground.

“Anders!” Bethany stepped to his side, lifting him from the ground.

The blue form spoke, voice sounding foreign and deep. “Watch over him. All of you.”

“Justice?” Hawke stepped forward. “What are you doing?”

The spirit pulled away from the group. “Tell him... tell him I said he deserved more than I ever gave him, that I ever let him have. Tell him...” The demon screamed again, and Justice pulled farther from the group. The spirit laughed, a short, hard bark. “Tell him words could never do him justice.”

“Justice, wait!” Hawke ran forward, reaching for him, but Fenris grabbed her arm.

“Let him go, Hawke.”

“But-”

The spirit flew at the demon, arcs of crackling blue energy shooting from its body.

“Let's go.” Alistair grabbed Cole's arm and pushed Hawke forward with the other. “Hurry. Let's not waste the time he bought us.”

“But Anders!” Bethany waved her hand at the mage's body.

Fenris bent over the man, throwing one limp arm over his shoulder and lifting him in his arms. “I've got him. Let's go.”

Lahria threw her hand at the rift, breaking it open, and they escaped – every single one of them alive.


	13. The Taint

Anders woke as they left the fortress, and blinked hard at the image of silver hair and lines of lyrium glowing mere inches from his face.

“Fenris?”

“Not a word, mage.”

“Are you… holding me?”

“Only until we reach the healers’ tents.”

_Maker. What happened? I remember the Fade. I’m assuming you were in control? Like last time? Care to fill me in?_

There was silence in his head.

_Justice?_

No answer.

“Justice?” Anders whispered. He searched his thoughts, his emotions, but felt no presence there, no seething companion grousing about the world. “Justice!” He threw his hands out, trying to draw on the spirit’s power, but nothing came.

“Calm yourself. We’re almost there.”

“Where is Justice? Where-“

A swelling in his blood, a dizzying ringing in his head, and his stomach dipped. “Fenris, put me down.”

“I told you-“

“Put me down!” He shoved himself out of the elf’s arms, toppling to the ground just in time to throw up all over the sand.

“Hey.” Bethany appeared, kneeling beside him and rubbing his back. “Anders, it’s alright.”

“It is _not_ alright!” His stomach heaved again and he bent nearly double with it. He felt his friend’s hand still on his back, then resume her light circles.

“Shh. You’re okay. We all made it out alive.”

 _Did we? All of us?_ He felt tears welling in his eyes as he wiped his mouth.

“Can you walk?” She asked him.

“I-“ Another dizzying swirl, a keening wail in his head, and he clapped his hands over his ears as though it would make it stop. “Maker, what is _happening_?” The smell of his own vomit was acid in his lungs as he tilted sideways, clutching at his hair. “Make it stop!”

“The old song is getting louder, louder, loud like the other Wardens.” Cole had kept to the edges of the group, but now he spoke in his haunting voice. “The darkness swimming in his blood, surging up like sick to the surface, festering wounds, the screaming of the monsters in the earth. He can hear it again, feel it crawling beneath his skin.”

“The Taint,” said Bethany, stroking Anders’ hair. “Justice must have held it back somehow, and now-“

“Make it _stop_!” Anders whimpered.

“Carry him again. We have to get him back to camp.”

“No! No, I-“

But Fenris had hoisted him into his arms again.

 

\---

 

Dorian had been pacing in the camp, feeling useless. He’d held back with Cullen and the others to keep their men on the walls, fight the demons popping up like daisies around the fortress. It was good work, necessary, but it was over quickly, and all they were doing now is waiting.

“She didn’t die,” Cullen had said for the hundredth time. “If she were dead, there would be bodies in the rubble. No. I saw a brilliant green flash when the dragon hit. She must have… done something.”

Dorian told him to do a patrol of the fortress just to get the man out of his hair.

But now he was alone, pacing and worrying. Cassandra and Iron Bull weren’t much for conversation, and Sera just kept muttering about demons and sharpening her arrows.

He sighed, leaning against one of the impromptu tables they’d set up, staring at the fortress.

A small group was coming to the camp and fast.

“What is it?” Cassandra asked.

“I think they’re-“

A long, high-pitched scream replied in answer, and Dorian ran towards the group, the others on his heels.

“Hold still, mage!” Fenris shouted, wrestling with Anders.

“It _hurts_!” He shouted back.

Alistair and Bethany exchanged a look.

“Can’t you heal yourself? At least some pain relief?” Alistair asked.

Bethany gave him an even stronger look.

“No. I- I can’t-“ Another scream.

“What’s going on?” Demanded Cassandra.

Lahria took a breath, then said, “We escaped the fade because Justice – the spirit living inside of Anders – sacrificed himself to save us. Without the spirit’s influence, it seems that Anders is feeling the full effects of the Warden Taint all at once.”

As if to prove her point, the mage gave off another yelp.

“We can talk while we move,” Lahria barked, waving the group onward. “Cassandra, lead us to the healers.”

“How long has he been a warden?” Bethany asked as they crossed the camp. “Sometime after the Blight, yeah?”

Alistair shrugged. “Something like nine years?”

Bethany paled, voice trembling. “Nine years? Maker. It’s been building in him all this time and he’s only feeling it _now_?”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Dorian snapped as he stepped to Fenris and pulled a flask from his pocket, tipping its contents into Anders’ mouth. The blond drank it down greedily.

“The Taint, and the Calling, grows stronger as you get older, until finally it consumes you. If Justice was keeping the effects at bay, then he’s been living a relatively normal life until now. He hasn’t been able to gradually get used to the Taint’s effects. It’s… hitting him all at once. Nine years of it.”

“And on top of that, he’s just lost his closest friend,” said Dorian.

The others looked at him blankly.

“Justice.” Dorian snarled. “He’s been inside his head for years now, yes? And now he’s gone. So on top of everything else, he’s just had part of his soul literally _ripped out of him_.”

Anders stirred at that, suddenly grasping Dorian’s hand, still holding the flask _“What did you say?”_

Dorian swallowed. “Justice-“

“He’s gone? He’s… really gone?” Anders’ eyes were welling with tears.

Dorian nodded.

 

\---

 

It was a long night.

Solas and Dorian knelt on either side of Anders' cot, trying to hold back the waves of anguish that left the man pale and shivering.

“We can't _heal_ the Blight. It can't be done,” Solas said for at least the third time.

“What if we channel the Fade and hold back the Taint's effects, just for a night? Slowly introduce it back into his system? It will still be painful, and far from perfect, but perhaps not so acute?” Dorian glared at the center of Anders' chest, hands flashing with healing light. He wasn't good at healing, never had been, but damned if he wasn't going to do his best.

“How exactly are we going to do that? You can't hold back his blood, or... or send it through the Fade.”

“A filter, then?”

Solas lowered his hands, and Anders began writhing on the cot. “Warden mages have been working on this for hundreds of years and haven't found a solution. We're not likely to find it now!”

“Kaffas!” Dorian's hands sputtered out and he raked his hands through his hair as Anders moaned in pain.

“Your mana's exhausted. Mine is as well. We can't keep this up for much longer.”

“What do you propose we do, then?” Dorian snarled. “Let him suffer?”

Solas gave no answer to that, and Dorian shook his head, raising his hands over the blond's body. He took a steadying breath and the light returned to his hands. “Flooding him with healing magic seems to calm him, at least. Let's load him up with sleeping draughts. When he isn't sleeping, I'll heal him.”

“Dorian-”

“Bring me lyrium potions. Any that are left from the battle.”

“There are healers-”

Dorian shoved back from the cot and waved his arms at the many, many wounded, all of whom were ignoring them. “They're busy helping the people who are dying. None of them have the time or energy for this.”

Varric pushed off from where he had been leaning against some stacked supply crates. “Alright, sparkler. Lyrium potions. And _food_.” He stood so that he was blocking Dorian's view of Solas, who was shaking his head. “And you have to let Bethany take over when you need to rest – and you _will_ rest.”

The mage frowned down at the dwarf. “Why does this sound like a negotiation?”

“Because I'm supervising.”

Dorian laughed, but Varric looked serious.

“I'll hit you over the head and haul your ass out of here if you put yourself in danger. You're already close to dropping. No more until you get some dinner and potions in you.”

He didn't have the energy to argue, so he nodded, sighed, and subjected to Varric's supervision.

 

\---

 

It was two days before Anders' body had adjusted enough for him to be lucid beyond the pain. He sat up on a pallet in the back of a cart along with several other wounded. He was so thirsty and his head was throbbing.

A mumbling beside him made him look over to see Dorian curled in a very uncomfortable-looking ball, his silk robes covered in straw and dust, wrapped around him like a blanket. He had wedged himself half-upright in a corner of the cart, empty potion bottles littering his lap.

 _Has he been watching over me?_ A small smile slid across Anders' face.

That smile went cold, fading instantly when he realized there was no answering rumble in his mind.

Justice was gone.


	14. Holding the Pieces Together

Back at Skyhold, a few weeks later, in the middle of the night, Dorian hears a knock on his door.

When he opens it, he finds Anders there, eyes red and body tense. He steps aside, lets the blond enter his room without a word, shutting the door behind them.

“Anders, what is-”

“ _Hawke_ decided that now that I was in a _better frame of mind_ , it was time she told me the details of-” He paces, arms crossed tight over his chest. “Of Justice's final moments.”

 _Ah._ Dorian stands aside, letting Anders pace, letting him speak.

“What does she know about my 'state of mind'? She has never known a _thing_ about what I needed, or what I could handle.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Do you know what his last words to _me_ were? 'I will not let you die.'” Anders shakes, fists clenched and raised to the wall. “Justice.” He ground out the words, “had been pushing for my death since Kirkwall. My destruction was _right_ by him. It was _justice_ for those we had destroyed. He never said it, but I felt it.” That shaking fist against his temple now. “Here. A constant grating in my head.”

Anders' pacing grows faster, his hands gesturing. “A spirit feels _wrong_ when they aren't fulfilling their purpose. It _hurts_.” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “He defied his own nature, letting me live. And then he saved me. Twice. What does that _mean_?”

He'd suddenly stops, looking lost as he stares at Dorian.

 _I think it means Justice loved you._ But Dorian couldn't seem to form the words.

“I find that I don't know who I am anymore.” Anders winces around the words, his eyes wandering, but never lifting to meet the other mage's. “There are very few constants, few things that feel the same now as they did with... when...” He swallows.

 _How do you mourn a part of yourself?_ Dorian thinks, a pang going off against his heart. _How do you grieve for someone no one really knew except for you?_

Finally, though, his amber eyes lift to Dorian's. “One thing that _has_ remained, however, is you. I...” His voice drops to a whisper. “I've wanted you since I met you. And I still do. And...” Anders' hands clench, unclench. “You've always been a friend to me. Will you-” He licks his lips.

There is a tremulous caring in Dorian's chest as his stomach does backflips. He steps toward Anders, closing the space between them without consciously thinking about it. “Are you asking me to bed you?” _After the fucking mess I made of it last time?_

The other mage gives a small shake of his head, his hands coming up to Dorian's collar, clutching at him tightly as his lips tremble and his face looks so uncertain. “No. Just... kiss me. Hold me. I need to feel something. Something I felt before the Fade.” He brings Dorian's face closer to his own, pulling them together. “Something familiar.”

Dorian can't help but grin at that, a flutter stirring in his gut at the other man's words and his own words come out more breathless than he anticipated. “I'm familiar? You only had me once.”

All Anders can do is nod before he closes his eyes and their lips meet. It is the single softest, most tender kiss Dorian has ever experienced and there is a quiet whimper in his throat at the shaking in Anders' lips, at the gentleness as the other man parts Dorian's mouth and tilts his head so the kiss becomes something warmer, something more.

No one has ever needed Dorian like this. Sure, many men have reached for him with grasping, desperate hands, hot breath against his neck and urgent cries of _please, please_. But no one has ever held him like he was anchoring them to this world. No one has ever kissed him like this, a kiss for the sake of a kiss - the emotion welling up in their breaths, pooling in the soft pull of hands at his hair, washing over their bodies pressing together so softly, so carefully. No one has ever asked Dorian to care for them, to _take_ _care_ of them, and to ask it with touches, with hesitant hands and shaking knees.

 _A port in a storm_. But no one has ever wanted him to be their shelter.

Dorian feels wetness against his cheek and he pulls back, gasping, “ _Amatus_.” He had meant to say _Anders_. “You're crying.”

“Don't stop.” Anders' hands tug him back, kiss him, sloppy, wet, tight sobs hitching in his chest.

Dorian staggers and presses the other man against the wall and Anders makes a little sound, his arms wrapping around him, twining the two closer.

Dorian doesn't stop. One arm on the wall, the other holding Ander's jaw, he kisses him, deep and long, trying to be what he needs, trying to give him whatever it is he's asking for with those shaking hands. When Anders' crying becomes too much, Dorian moves his lips to the raspy stubble on his jaw, to his throat, to the sensitive skin at his shoulder, letting himself be held – clutched, rather – and wept against.

Soon there are no more kisses, just an embrace. Dorian strokes the other man's hair, whispers nonsensical comfort. “It's alright. I'm here. You're okay. I've got you.”

He isn't sure if it's even helping. There seems to be no end to Ander's sobs, coming dry and heavy now, finally out of tears.

“Amatus,” Dorian says, then mentally shakes himself and tries again. “Anders. _Anders_.” He pulls himself out of the others' arms enough so he can see his face and wipe his gritty tears away with his thumb. “Hey.”

The man blinks up at Dorian, eyes red and swollen. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry.” He smooths back his blond hair. “It's fine.”

“I shouldn't have come and... this isn't your problem. I'm sorry.”

“Anders.” Dorian tucks more hair behind the other mage's ear and strokes his cheek with a thumb. “It's alright. Don't apologize.” He swallows the words he isn't saying and isn't fully letting himself feel. _I like that you came here. I like being who you ran to when you needed to fall apart. No one ever comes to me with their problems. No one ever trusts me this much. Please don't take it back._

They stand there, looking at each other. Anders' face in Dorian's hands. Dorian's hips wrapped in Anders' arms. _What now?_ Dorian thinks. _How can I help?_ He clears his throat. “I'm... a bit terrible at this whole comforting thing.”

He's rewarded with a small smile. “You're doing fine.”

“Should we move to the bed?” Ander's expression falls – Disappointment? Hurt? - and Dorian hurries on. “Not for _those_ reasons. Just... I'm worried you may collapse from exhaustion and I'll have to carry you.” He keeps his tone light. “You're skinny, but you're not _that_ skinny.”

Another small smile. “The bed would be nice.”

“Good.” He guides Anders to his bed, all rich colors and soft fabrics. Dorian pushes on his shoulders, making him sit, and he kneels to remove the other mage's boots.

“You don't have to do that.”

One boot free, he moves to the next, making quick work of the laces. With the other off, he looks up to see Anders biting his lip, brow creased.

“Off with the robe, too.” Dorian leans forward, rests his arms on the bed, surrounding Anders. “Unless you sleep in that awful thing.”

“No.” Anders' hands move on their own, untying it quickly and letting it fall off his arms, leaving him in just a soft shirt and linen pants. His eyes don't leave Dorian's as he does it, but there's nothing seductive in the gesture. _He's still unsteady,_ thinks Dorian. _And he's looking at me like I'm grounding him._ Something bright and hot seeps under his ribs at that thought and he tries to push it away.

“Into bed with you.” Dorian stands, letting Anders scramble back to the headboard. With a wave of his hands, most of the candles go out, leaving the room in a dim glow.

Soon they are both under the blankets, warm and facing each other. _I don't know how to do this,_ Dorian thinks. _Do I hold him? Should I say something?_ Their bodies are apart in the bed, but Anders' quiet gaze is still on his face. “What do you need?” The question slips out, soft in gloom.

Anders' hand slips into Dorian's between them. “You've done more than enough. I'm sorry for ambushing you like that. I-”

Dorian squeezes his hand. “It's fine.” He smirks, innuendo in his voice. “By all means. Ambush me any time you please.”

Anders laughs but there's no humor in it.

A minute or two of silence lapses between them, and Dorian wants to ask again. _What do you need? How do I help?_ Anders' eyes are steady on his face, and it's unnerving. It takes all Dorian has to meet his stare, to be present with him, to not deflect. “What do you need?” He asks so there is something to say.

“You don't have to-”

Dorian squeezes his hand again. “Hush.”

That earns him a quiet smile from the other man, the first with genuine warmth in it.

Heart pounding with nerves, Dorian takes his hand back and scoots across the distance between them. “Is this okay?” He asks.

“Yes.”

Dorian places his hand flat on Anders' chest, soft material above the warm beat of his heart. “Is this?”

“Yes.” Anders' voice is a whisper.

This close, Dorian can't maintain the eye contact. He ducks his head, watching his own hand as it travels over the hard curves of Anders' ribcage to the hollowing of his stomach to the sharp wings of his hip bones. _Tomorrow, I am making the man eat,_ he files away for later.

He lets his body sink against Anders', their feet gently tangling beneath the blankets. “Is this alright?”

The stubble on Anders' face catches in his hair as he leans his cheek against Dorian's head. “It's perfect.”

There's a touch of expression in the tone of his voice when he says that, and Dorian closes his eyes, trying not to feel it, or want it, or hope for it. Wanting and hoping were dangerous things.

But... well, he was never any good at keeping away from danger.

Dorian tilts his face up to see the other man, who smiles up one side of his face when their eyes meet.

“Can I kiss you again?” Dorian asks.

He can feel the pounding of the other man's heart beneath his open palm, the deep breath before Anders whispers.

“Yes.”


	15. The Morning After You Again

Anders wakes up first, like he did the last time, only now he knows not to linger. He feels rested, body relaxed in a way he hadn't felt in a long while, and it makes him smile. But still, he slips from the blankets and carefully dons his robe again, shuffles into his boots as quietly as possible.

Dorian remains sleeping, arm sprawled out on the sheets where it had been slung across Anders' body moments ago. The man makes light snoring sounds – ones he'd never admit to when awake – and knowing this small, intimate detail about him brings another bright smile to Anders' face.

Still. He knows these moments can't last. The night before was friendship, and Anders was grateful for it. _Don't make it more than it is_ , he lectures himself. _You'll just end up hurting yourself. He was good to you, a good friend. Be happy for that._

And he was.

He stepped around to the side of the bed where Dorian was still sleeping, and pressed a kiss to the man's temple. _Maker, but I'm falling hard for you,_ he thought to himself, indulging a moment, drawing a hand through Dorian's hair. _I don't care that you don't feel the same. I'm yours._

Then he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

 

\---

 

Dorian woke a good hour later, feeling chilled and reaching out to the other side of the bed. “Anders,” he mumbled. “Don't hog the blankets.”

But there was no response, and no warm body in the bed beside him. He'd kicked the blankets off himself.

Dorian sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Anders?”

He was alone.

His chest ached at the realization, reality settling in his gut like a stone. “Of course,” he whispers, shaking his head. “What was I thinking?”

Dorian flopped back on the bed, grabbing the other pillow and hugging it to his chest.

It smelled like Anders.

“Fasta vass.” He threw the pillow on the floor then tossed himself angrily on his back, glaring at the ceiling.

He really wished the other man had stayed.


	16. Golden

The trees were full of bird chatter, sounding loud and close in the small garden enclosure compared to the distant clash of soldiers training. Dorian wrapped his palms along an edge of the stone table the chess board rested on, feeling the cool stone beneath his hands.

The sun was behind him, illuminating Cullen's face and hair. Dorian rather liked this angle, the way the sun lit up the Commander's stubble like gold dust. For a brief instant, he wondered if Anders' profile would look just as golden in this light, then scowled, shoving the thought away.

"Alright, what is it?" Cullen asked, crossing his arms.

"What is what?"

"You're so distracted, you haven't cheated once."

"Cheat? Me?" He put a hand to his chest, mock-offended. "I would never."

Cullen smirked, then his face got serious, and he leaned in close over the board. "Dorian, really. If there's something bothering me, you can tell me. Maker knows I've unburdened myself to you enough." When Dorian fussed with his mustache instead of responding, Cullen's voice grew low. "I'm happy to sit here and ignore the fact that there's something on your mind, but just know that I'm here. You can tell me anything, and I wouldn't think less of you."

"Anything?" He chuckled. "Be careful what you offer."

"Dorian." His voice had that tone he got when he was weary of Dorian's banter and wanted to really talk. So Dorian sighed, settled back in his chair, and talked.

"Last night, someone came to me with something. They were... very upset, and wanted my help."

Cullen waited a beat, expecting more to the story. When more didn't come, he said, "And you're worried about them?"

 _Was that it?_ Dorian almost curled his lip in disgust. _No. Of course not_. He hadn't even thought to be worried for the man. All he had been concerned with was why Anders had left, and whether or not those kisses meant Dorian was special, cared for, and if it was possible they might happen again. He hadn't spared a single thought for Anders' well being.

_Fasta vass. What is wrong with me? The man was a wreck and I just..._

_Took advantage. And then wanted more._

"Dorian?" Cullen looked a little alarmed. "You look pale. Are you alright?"

Dorian swallowed. "I'm fine."

_No wonder people don't come to me with their problems._

_Fuck, Dorian. You need to go find him and make sure he's okay._

"I need to go," Dorian said, standing quickly.

"Alright." Cullen sounded confused. "Are you sure-"

"I'm sorry. It's... I am worried, actually. And I need to see how he's doing."

Finally given something he could understand, Cullen nodded and began picking up the board. "If you or your friend need anything from me, you know you have it."

Dorian smiled, touched in spite of himself. "Thank you." _You're much better at this than I am._ "Really."

Cullen simply waved a hand. "Go."

 

\---

 

Anders wasn't in the clinic.

Dorian had been apprehensive before, but now he was alarmed. He got the attention of one of the nurses, about to ask if they'd seen him, when Cole appeared at his elbow.

"He's in the stables, with Tabitha."

"Tabitha?" Dorian raised an eyebrow. "The tavern girl?"

Cole shook his head. "The cat."

"The... cat."

The boy nodded as if this were obvious.

"Right. The stables, you said?"

After another nod, Dorian headed off. The stables were certainly not a place he visited often, and Blackwall gave him a startled look when he found the mage standing in his makeshift workshop. The look turned to resignation and rolling eyes. "Not you, too."

"Pardon?"

"Does Vivienne have an interest in kittens as well? I never would've pegged you for a cat person."

"Ah, well. Have you seen Anders about?"

Blackwall gestured to the roof with his chisel and went back to his work.

Dorian climbed the stairs slowly, careful to pull his robes away from the walls and not touch the railing with any part of his anatomy.

In a corner of the upper floor, right in a hot beam of sun from the window, Anders was reclining on a tuft of straw with at least five small fuzzy kittens nestled on various parts of him.

Dorian felt a hysterical urge to giggle, all the alarm and worry dissolving into a soft, warm sort of wonder.

He walked closer, steps quiet so as not to wake him. The sun caught every bit of gold on his face, even the tips of his lashes. Dorian thought this might be the first time he'd ever seen Anders' face completely relaxed, free of the frown lines and sad expression he seemed to wear most of the time.

In sleep, Anders' lips curled in a natural smile.

It made Dorian's heart ache.

_You're beautiful._

A small, warm weight sunk its claws into the robes at his feet and he jerked. A little orange kitten was trying to climb him. “No,” he whispered, shaking his robes as if it dislodge a spider. “Stop that!”

The kitten seemed to think he was playing, and began batting at the swells of fabric that were rippling around.

“Let go!” Dorian hissed.

“Dorian?” A groggy voice from the hay pile.

Anders sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. His eyes were still red-rimmed, and Dorian wondered if he had been crying before dozing off.

"Can you convince this little beast to let go of me?" Dorian flapped his robes again.

With a sleepy grin, Anders stretched out across the floor and lifted the kitten, wiggling it in mid-air to dislodge the claws before pulling it back to himself. “She likes you.”

“Well the feeling is not mutual.”

Anders' grin grew wider, then stretched into a yawn. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“How are you doing?” Dorian asked.

The blond's cheeks seemed a bit pinker then. “Better. But... this isn't something you get over in one night.”

“I know.” Felix had passed weeks ago, and he had known it was coming, but it still hurt. He still found himself staring out the window in the library on the verge of tears far more often than he'd like.

“Last night...” Anders started, then stopped, eyes on the kittens instead of Dorian, who was holding his breath. “Last night helped. Immensely. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Dorian smiled, and Anders finally lifted his eyes to smile at his friend. “Really,” Dorian filled his voice with warm sincerity. “I mean that. Anytime.”

_You are welcome in my arms, in my bed, anytime._

_Like, tonight maybe. Right now, maybe._

“Thank you. You're a good friend.”

Dorian smiled harder.

“Have you eaten yet? You need food. Breakfast, lunch. I don't know what meal it is, but you need it.”

Anders stood, stretched. “I'm fine-”

“I'm not. I'm starving.” And you're too skinny. “Come, eat with me.”

So they went.


	17. Sweetness

That night, Dorian sat in bed, a book in his lap but he wasn't reading.

 _Anytime_ , he had said. He wasn't sure if Anders had understood. He wasn't even sure if he had understood himself.

This was a weird, awkward middle ground he was in. He didn't feel right outright propositioning the man, especially when things had turned out so badly the first time, and this new bond between them was a beautiful, precious thing.

But if Anders took the step, came to him, then he knew he would welcome him with open arms.

It just didn't seem right for Dorian himself to try to push things, at least not now, or maybe ever.

He sighed and slammed the book shut, pressing his forehead to his knees.

_I have no idea what I'm doing._

Then, there was a knock at the door, and hope lifted in his chest like startled birds from a field.

“Yes?” He cleared his throat. “Come in.”

“Dorian.” It was Cole, a look on his face like stars in his eyes.

Dorian sighed. “Good evening, Cole.”

Cole’s voice was a whisper made of awe. “Can I stay here tonight?” He was absently running his fingertips over his lips.

“I suppose.” Dorian then added internally, _Not like anyone else is volunteering._

Cole frowned. “He’ll come back. He just needs-“ He shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

Dorian laughed. “Like that ever stopped you before.”

The spirit removed his hat and set it on knob of the footboard like a coat rack, then climbed into the blankets beside Dorian, curling his body along the mage’s side. Dorian absently stroked his hair. He tried to read his book again, but his eyes kept drifting to Cole’s face, and the gentle smile there. Occasionally the boy would close his eyes, run the pad of his thumb across his lower lip, and hum softly.

 _You didn't tell me a kiss would feel like this_ , the boy had said, practically glowing. And when he said her name – _Amy_ – like a saint speaking the name of Andraste herself.

 _It’s nauseating_. Dorian glowered. A smaller, truer voice in the back of his mind whispered, _I want to be loved like that._

One of Cole’s skinny hands wrapped around Dorian’s arm. “ _I_ love you, Dorian.”

He sighed.

Cole retracted his hand. “But it doesn't count, because I’m not Anders.”

Dorian bit back a string of curses. Instead he sighed and put aside his book, leaning over to blow out the candles, then nestled into the bed beside Cole.

The boy’s hand slipped into Dorian’s in the dark.

“You’re so excessively sweet, Cole. It gives me a toothache.”

Cole scrunched his nose but didn’t answer. He wanted to tell Dorian – _He loves you. Anders loves you. He is laying awake tonight with a matching ache, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes, trying not to want you, trying not to remember how you felt in his arms, trying not to crave the way you pieced him back together when he was suddenly so much less. If you **told** him, the both of you would stop hurting _ – but Amy had said no. Human love was complicated, and they needed to find each other on their own.

Cole sighed and snuggled close to Dorian, his head on the other man’s shoulder.

“I love you, Dorian,” he said again.

Cole felt the tension in Dorian's chest ease a little.

 _True friends are hard to come by,_ Dorian had told Lavellan. _But here I have found so many real, true friends_. Dorian kissed the crown of Cole’s head. _And I will take care of them. All of them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This also lines up with Cupid's Arrow, [Ch. 25 - Loved](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3098117/chapters/7933665). Almost word for word.


	18. The Ears

Eight nights. It had been eight nights since Dorian fell asleep, arms around a skinny mage with honey-colored hair and absolutely no regard for personal grooming. Eight nights since he had kissed him. Since he had felt so earth-shatteringly bright.

 _Kaffas_ , but he'd felt like a disaster ever since.

Dorian stared down at the foam in his mug, chest absolutely full with wanting.

“So,” said Zevran, coming to lean on the bar beside Dorian.

“So,” Dorian answered back, not looking up.

The elf cocked his head. “You are a very beautiful man. Do you know that?”

Dorian chuckled. “I am well aware.” Zevran was quiet for a beat before Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “You are rather handsome yourself.”

The elf smiled wide. “Want some company?”

 _Gods, yes._ The mage swallowed the rest of his drink and turned to the other man. “I would love some.”

 

\---

 

“Is it true what they say?” Dorian asked, running a hand through the elf’s hair. “About the ears?”

Zevran smirked, pulling his mouth away from Dorian with a lewd _pop_. “Why don’t you find out?”

Before he could say anything else, Zevran was on him again, and Dorian was breathing too hard to say much of anything. He looked down at the blonde head bobbing on his cock and groaned.

He gave the ears an experimental rub, pinching the tips between thumb and forefinger.

Zevran groaned around his length and Dorian threw his head back.

“So it is true,” he breathed.

The elf laughed around him, then pulled back. “Perhaps.”

When Zevran had established a regular rhythm, Dorian placed his hands over his ears, rubbing the tips lightly. But then he looked down.

With Zevran's ears covered and his blonde hair pulled loosely back from his face, he looked almost like-

 _Anders_.

Dorian groaned loudly, almost going over the edge from the idea alone.

Zevran felt the others' body tense and picked up his pace, wrapping a hand around his own member as he probed the crown of Dorian's cock with his tongue before hollowing his cheeks and taking him full in his mouth.

“Anders,” Dorian moaned, gripping Zevran's hair. “Kaffas... Anders!”

He came, too fast and too hard as the name broke from him, head dizzy with orgasm.

When the clouds parted in his mind, he shook himself.

_Fuck._

 

\---

 

Anders practiced what he was going to say in his head.

_You weren't at dinner, and I know you can get absorbed in your books. Or drinking._

_Don't say that._

_I missed you at dinner._

_Don't say that either._

He fidgeted with the plate he held, another plate balanced on top to keep it warm.

_It is perfectly normal for a friend to bring another entirely platonic friend dinner._

The resounding silence in his head made his heart sink.

 _Didn't I used to be suave? I seem to recall a lot of women - and men - who found me very appealing._ He glared down at the dual plates. _What happened?_

He was almost to Dorian's room and he paused to take a breath and go over it again.

_I didn't see you at dinner and thought you might be hungry, so I saved you a plate. What are you working on?_

_Casual. Friendly._

He took two steps, crossing the little path that ran between the Inquisition's boarding rooms, when Dorian's door opened and Anders froze.

“Goodnight,” Zevran called back into the room. His hair was a mess – a distinctly tousled mess – and he was tucking in his shirt.

Anders dropped the plates and they clattered together like tolling bells in the night.

The elf jumped into a defensive stance, reaching for daggers Anders couldn't see.

Before he got stabbed by accident, Anders turned on his heel and ran, barely making it five steps before he collided with Varric.

“Woah, there. Blondie? What are you in such a hurry for?”

Varric must have seen Zevran _still_ _getting dressed_ outside Dorian's door because suddenly his voice took on a note of pity. “Oh, Blondie...”

“Leave it alone,” he barked, or tried to, but his voice was cracking. He shoved away from his friend and stormed across Skyhold, almost running to his room where he could shut his door, bury his fists in his hair and cry.

And this time, Justice wouldn't be there to tell him Dorian wasn't worth crying over.

Because Dorian _was_ worth crying over.

And Justice was gone.


	19. Zevran

“Anders?”

The mage looked up to see Zevran standing in the door of his clinic – or, well, it wasn't _his_ clinic. _And I definitely don't want to see him here._

For the briefest instant, he expected to hear the grumpy voice of Justice echoing his sentiments, but it didn't come.

His chest ached.

“What can I do for you?”

The Antivan came close, folding his arms and leaning against the wall with practiced grace. _First Dorian, now him. Who taught them to move like that?_ “I wanted to talk to you.”

Anders clenched his jaw. “Oh?”

“About Dorian.”

“Look, there's no need-”

Zevran held up a hand. “There is a need. It's none of my business, but-”

“You're right. It is none of your business.”

The elf gave him a gentle smile, but continued. “I want to tell you something that I think... I think it would help you to know.”

Anders said nothing. He continued to grind elfroot with his mortar and pestle, not looking up.

Zevran continued. “Dorian is stubborn. And he would hate both of us if you ever let slip that I told you this.”

“Told me what?” His curiosity was piqued despite himself.

“When we were together, when he and I were-”

“I don't need the details, thank you.”

Zevran smirked. “He said your name.”

Anders blinked. “What?”

“When he finished, well. It was your name he was moaning, not mine.”

Cheeks red, Anders said, “Why are you telling me this?”

The elf shrugged. “You have feelings for him, no?” Before the other man could protest, Zevran continued. “And haven't you seen the way he looks at you? How his entire body language changes once you enter a room?”

Anders absently twirled the pestle in its bowl, the clay letting off a raspy ring.

“Go to him.”

“He doesn't want me.” His voice was quiet.

“Yes he does. Go to him.”

Anders' laugh was brittle. “You say that like it's simple.”

The elf's laugh, however, was deep and loud. “That's exactly what he said.” He patted Anders' shoulder, then turned away. “Go to him, Anders.”

The mage stared fixedly at his workbench, thinking.

 

\---

 

Dorian had barely slept that night, and kept zoning out the next day, as well.

 _Anders_.

The strong force of feeling when he had thought about his mouth on him, when he had heard himself say his name. It had shaken him.

And now he couldn't stop thinking about it.

But not just the idea of sex with him, or that one night they had spent together, but everything. The way his face lit up when Dorian showed up at his clinic without warning. The bashful smile when he praised him. The way he had stared at Dorian, like he was holding him together, that night they'd fallen asleep together.

Dorian had _loved_ that night, had pulled the memory out like a shining treasure to be polished and admired over and over again. How much it had meant to Dorian for someone to need his touch, his affection, his quiet soothing words. He wasn't a comforter. People didn't run to him with their problems.

But Anders did.

It was wrong to want him to do it again, to want Anders to be shaking and grieving and scared just so Dorian could hold him close and be his strength again. But he wanted it with a deep, loud _aching_ that he had never felt for anyone before.

_What if I could hold him close, kiss his face, watch his smile bloom beneath my touch as I show him how good, how wonderful, how kind and powerful and perfect he is? What if I could have that when he wasn't breaking down? What if he just came to me because he wanted to be with me?_

He had to find something to do, something to keep his hands and mind busy before this aching need devoured him from the inside.

So he shoved away from the table he was at and went into the bowels of Skyhold and buried himself in dozens of ancient, musty tomes that had nothing to do with beautiful blond mages with expressive eyes that warmed when Dorian said his name.

_Anders._


	20. More Books

“Dorian.” The way he said his name, it was a wonder the man didn't already know. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

He’d found him not in the usual library, but in a smaller, older, darker one in the basement.

“Have you been cleaning? I seem to remember this place being a lot… dirtier.”

“I’m not as spoiled as everyone believes, you know. I am _capable_ of cleaning. When the mood strikes me, that is.” Dorian gave his friend a smile and placed a scrap of paper into the book he was holding. “I’ve been looking for Corypheus' real name. It seemed like such a good idea when I started, but now...” He waved a hand at the pile of books by his chair. “I hadn't quite realized the scope of the project until I was in the middle of it.”

“I see.” Anders ran his thumbnail along the collar of his robe. “Would you come with me? There's... something I want to talk to you about.”

Dorian gave him an odd look. “Alright.”

Anders stepped away from the books, toward the darker corners of the underground room, unsure what he was doing. _Go to him_ , the elf had said. _But then what?_

They were standing in the dark now, and could barely see the outlines of each other.

“Dorian,” Anders said, his voice low, glad he couldn't see the other mage's face, or he'd never be able to get the words out. “I, um. I saw you with Zevran the other night.”

In the dark, Anders could hear Dorian draw in a breath.

“I mean, I know you didn't really, uh.” _Oh, Maker, this had sounded so much better in my head._ “I mean, you only wanted to be with me because you were hurting and I was a friend. But, I, ah...” He laughed, sounding nervous and unhinged, echoing in the empty room. “I wanted to tell you, that... if you ever... I mean, if you ever needed that from someone, you could come to me. Anytime.” The last word sounded a little too raw and he cleared his throat. “I don't even know if you even liked being with me, but if you-”

But Dorian was suddenly pushing him against the wall, hot breath on his neck.

“Dorian-” Anders gasped, startled, but Dorian grabbed his hands and loosely pinned them above his head.

“Please,” Dorian said thickly. “I need to say something.”

Anders waited, but no sound came. Then, just before he was going to break the silence himself, Dorian spoke.

"Anders." His voice was rough, heaving deep in his chest as he held the other man against the wall, panting a bare inch from Anders' open mouth. "Amatus," and his voice was sweeter on that word, though he still had the blond's hands pinned above his head.

Dorian's eyes were squeezed shut. He ran his mouth over Anders', both their lips parted, breath mingling, almost a kiss.

Anders' heart fluttered. _Hope. Possibility._ With great effort, he kept himself from sinking into Dorian, from kissing the man he'd loved for far too long. Instead he traced his lower lip across Dorian's, echoing the other's movement, barely touching him, before saying low, "Yes, love?"

He had slipped on that last word, giving in.

Dorian released a hard breath, almost a whimper. His hands flexed tight on Anders' wrists.

It was black in the basement, but Anders could feel the desperation in the way Dorian held his body tight, the almost-sobs on every breath, the trembling of his mouth so close to his.

 _Dorian brought himself this far,_ Anders thought. _I won't make him ask for more._

Anders leaned forward slowly, tilting to avoid the kiss, running his nose and chin down Dorian's cheek, his neck, a tender kiss slow and soft beneath the ear until Dorian released Anders' hands. Then the blond pulled him close, moving soft but firm, taking him by the waist and wrapping them together, flat palms on the Altus' back, holding him gentle and secure. Dorian's arms dropped to his shoulders like snowfall.

"It's alright, love," said Anders, pressing his face into the crook of his shoulder. _I've got you. If you want to fall, if you want to feel this, I'm here_. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

Dorian wrapped both arms around the other man, pressing a quick, shaking kiss to Anders' temple. “I don't know how to do this,” he whispered.

“How to do what?” Anders whispered back.

“Be with someone,” He breathed harshly, fingers digging into Anders' robes. “Someone I care about.” His voice all but disappeared on the last few words, but Anders heard, and Anders _beamed_.

The blond lifted his head from Dorian's shoulder and pressed his cheek against the other man's. “I've never really done it,” his voice was low, lilting like a question. “But I can tell you how I've imagined it to be.”

“How you imagined it?”

Anders nuzzled his cheek against Dorian's. “Yes.” He tried to keep from grinning. _I'm someone he cares about._ “I've imagined what it would be like with you.”

Dorian laughed, startled, and it sounded more like a squeak, hands gripping Anders' back as if he feared he'd run away. “Oh?”

“Yes.” He smiled against Dorian's cheek as he spoke. “I imagined you in the library, reading difficult texts and scribbling your notes, and me beside you, working and watching how beautiful you are when you're focused like that. I imagined us like we were at Adamant, fighting side by side, you all flash and fire, me healing you, keeping you safe. I imagined walking back to our rooms together every night. Having you in my bed every night. Waking up next to you every morning.”

“Our rooms?” A playful note in Dorian's voice, an attempt to cover up the wonder and the warmth.

Anders kissed beneath his eye. “Holding you, kissing you.” Anders' voice dropped to a breath on the last words.

Dorian shifted, tilting Anders' jaw towards him with a brush of fingertips, then they were kissing. Slow, trembling, then hard and needy, hands in each others' hair and pulling at their robes, pushing for more skin, more mouth on throat and jaw and collarbone and it was better, _more_ , so much more than the desperate first-time kisses or the grieving, broken kisses. Fluttering thrill rose up in each of them because these kisses were made of hope, of wishes coming true, of knowing they were getting everything they ever wanted.

“Amatus,” Dorian gasped into Anders' hair.

“Yes, love?”

 _Oh, say it again. Say it forever._ Dorian swallowed hard. “Do want this?”

“I've wanted this since you kissed me in the tavern. Before, even.”

“But do you want...” _me. Do you want me?_

“I want you, Dorian,” he kissed him to prove it. “I want you in my life... if you'll have me.”

Anders felt Dorian smile against his mouth. “Yes.”


	21. With You

 

Anders was in his bed.

Dorian lay on his side, naked – though Anders insisted on putting on clothes before falling asleep – and watching him. His Amatus. His.

Anders slept with his lips parted and a half-hearted fist curled on the pillow beside his face. Hair tie lost to the sheets in the night, his messy blonde hair tangled in his days-old stubble. Each and every breath was beautiful.

Dorian couldn't stop watching the man. He was just superstitious enough to believe that if he looked away, he'd be gone. It would all be over, a dream. All those pretty words nothing but a memory.

Anders was in his bed.

He was terrified of being happy about it. The other mage could still take it back.

When Anders awoke, Dorian would do what he always did when he started to feel things. He'd make jokes, strut around naked so if he did end up rejected, at least the other man would know what he was giving up. He'd already be up, out of bed and ready to go if necessary. He said he loved me, but it never hurts to be careful. (It always hurts, no matter how careful he is.)

"Dorian," said Anders' sleep-mussed voice.

Dorian found he didn't have a single joke. Not this time. "Good morning, Amatus." His voice was small, and quiet, and warm.

The fist curled beside Anders' face opened, slid forward, and held Dorian's hand. The blond man tugged the hand to his lips, kissed it gently, then placed it against his cheek. "Good morning, Love."

Something in Dorian was breaking. A hot, wet feeling in his throat like he was going to cry. "So this is it, then?" He said, somehow, without his voice wavering.

Anders smiled into Dorian's palm. "You're it for me."

A smile, eyes wide, and then a startled laugh. "Are you going to start every morning off with this sort of sap? I may get a toothache."

Anders tugged his arm until Dorian settled down into the blankets, Anders' head lightly resting on his shoulder. "That depends. Are you going to be waking up to me every morning?"

Dorian said nothing, the ease and warmth waiting, wary.

"Or maybe just every morning this week, or this month? We can see how you feel after that?"

"No." Dorian spoke quickly, voice a whisper. "Every morning works for me."

Soft kisses up Dorian's arm and along his shoulder, his neck.

"Good."

 

\---

 

“Dorian?”

“Yes?”

Hawke is standing in his library, arms folded, a strange expression on her face. “I hear you're... with Anders now.”

“Ah. Yes, that is the rumor.”

“Is it true?”

Dorian shrugged. “It might be.”

Hawke sighed. “Look. I just... he's been through a lot. If you're going to be with him, _be with him_. Take care of him.”

“Is this the 'break his heart and I'll break your face' talk?”

“Yes. But more than that. Don't leave him alone very often. Make sure he eats. Don't let him work himself too hard. And if you can, sleep with him.”  
“I beg your pardon?” Dorian spluttered.

“Not like that. _Sleep_ with him. He has nightmares.”

Dorian wanted to ask how she knew all of this, but decided that was a question for Anders, not Hawke. “I will do my best.” He gave a little bow.

She did not look impressed. “I mean it. I'm leaving in a few days, and while I know Varric does his best to look out for him, he needs someone more- He needs _you._ That is, if the rumors are true.”

Dorian just nodded, adding sincerity to his words this time.

“I will do my best.”

 

\---

 

Art by [xKalisto](http://xkalisto.tumblr.com/post/118697913319)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END! Haha the guidelines were to write a 10k fic.... and I wrote a 20k fic with 2500 words of extras (in the next chapter). How exciting. :P 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and to xKalisto for helping me launch the GOOD SHIP DORIANDERS! :D :D Come nerd out over Dorianders with me on my tumblr!!! There's a few of us who ship it... we can flail together. :) :)


	22. Deleted Scenes/Outtakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of bits and pieces that didn't make it into the final piece.

Art by [xKalisto](http://xkalisto.tumblr.com/post/118697913319)

\---

 

 **A/N** : I had a lot of struggles with this entire piece, and it went about 5 different directions   
before it ended up where it is now, so there are a LOT of extra and deleted scenes. :P Enjoy? I guess? Haha.

 

\--- **Extra Scene:** Takes place post-fic

“Anders.”

“Yes?”

Dorian shook his head. “That can't possibly be your real name.”

The blond winced a smile. “Probably not.”

“So what _is_ your real name?”

He sighed, shrugged. “I don't know. The templars took me when I was just a boy, and all they wrote in their report was 'picked up one Anders boy on the way to Hilton Valley.' Without anything else to call me, the name stuck.”

Dorian's face crumpled, his lips parting. “Surely you... you remember your own name.”

It was a long moment before he shook his head. “No. I don't.”

Dorian wrapped his arms around the other mage, pulling him close to him, burying his face in his shoulder, kissing the nape of his neck. With eyes squeezed tight, he pressed hard kisses to his shoulders and dug his fingers into the man's robes. _You deserved better._

Anders chuckled. “It's alright, Dorian.”

“There is nothing _right_ about it.”

“Well, no. But you don't need to worry like that.”

Another kiss, just below his ear. “Amatus,” he whispered.

Anders hummed happily.

“The way the templars treat mages down here in the South is barbaric.”

“I agree.” Anders' hands were over Dorian's and he squeezed them lightly.

“Had you been born in Tevinter, you would have been respected, admired. Valued. You would have mothers lining up around the block, trying to marry you off to their daughters.”

Anders chuckled. “Too bad I'm already taken.”

Dorian's heart lept at that. “Are you?” He breathed before he could stop himself.

The blond leaned his head back, his cheek rubbing against Dorian's. “Yes, love. You know I am.”

He tried not to smile. “The things you say.”

 

\---

 **Extra Scene** : Takes place after they sleep together [twice!] but before they confess.

Anders leans against the Tevinter's leg, taking strips of sterilized fabric from one box, bundling them into bandage packs, then tossing the completed package into another box. It's calming, hands moving without thought. It frees his mind to process other things, staring at the shelf in front of him, listening to the light swish of Dorian's page turning and the scribble of his notes in the margins.

Dorian groans, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.

“What's wrong?” Anders sits up, looks back at the other mage.  
“Headache.”

“You've been reading too much.”

“No such thing.”

Anders stands, then, letting his work fall back into the box, and presses a hand to Dorian's forehead.

“What are you- _Oh_. Oh that's nice.” Dorian hums and leans into Anders' touch as light blue magic swirls in the air around his face. The little smile on Dorian's lips looks so nice, Anders presses a quick kiss to his hair as he takes his hand away.

“Feel better?” Anders grins, trying not to notice the shocked look on the other man's face.

“I... yes. Much better. Thank you.”

Anders settles on the floor and takes up his work again, listening for the sound of pages turning, but it doesn't come.

Not for a long time.

 

\---

 **Deleted scenes:** Originally I wanted this to go much more deeply into Skyhold's reaction to What Anders Did,  
but decided I liked it as a romance so much better omg, so the following few bits are from when it was a larger Thing

Lahria Lavellan had already made up her mind about Anders. She would deal with him the same way she had dealt with every prisoner so far, and hope that made her just, fair, balanced. Having others’ lives in her hands was too much responsibility. A standard was the only way she could bear it.

But no one else knew her mind, and everyone seemed to have an opinion. Unlike the others she had judged, when everyone had watched and waited quietly for her judgment. Anders seemed to bring out the fire in everyone.

So many angry voices clamored for his death. She was more interested in the opinions of his former companions, but Isabela and Varric had glowered at her, refusing to take a side. Merrill had fidgeted nervously, waffling between “I know he should be punished” and “I don’t want him to die,” agitated and nervous until Morrigan stepped in with a sharp word and folded arms.

Hawke herself had dropped her eyes to the ground, saying, “I was already asked this question.”

“And you let him live,” Lahria said.

“You shouldn’t have.” Anger from Hawke’s shadow, the black and silver elf that followed her everywhere. “He should die for his crimes.”

Hawke hadn't said anything to that.

 

\--- 

 

Dozens of eyes followed Inquisitor Lavellan as she scooped up one of the chairs in the main hall and carried it over her shoulder through the front door and down the stairs.

Cullen was in the courtyard and he chuckled when he saw her. “Want me to carry that for you?”

Lavellan shook her head. “I'm fine.”

“Where are you taking the furniture?”

“To the dungeons. I'm going to see Anders.”

The humor in Cullen's face froze at that.

“Lahria. He's dangerous.”

“And locked up.”

“He's a mage. Mages can-”

Lahria gave him a warning look. “ _I_ am a mage, Cullen.”

 

\---

 **Deleted Scenes** : Originally, the plot was going to go “Dorianders are fuck buddies who fall in love.” Buuut that just was   
not working at all. So I took most of those scenes and turned them into my piece [How it Happens](archiveofourown.org/works/3457541), a Cullrian fic.... this is   
the only scene that didn't work for Cullen's character without _heavy_ revision that I didn't care to do. 

Anders is well-accustomed to sex of all kinds. Men. Women. Long nights of pleasure or quick trysts in a dark corner. And sex with Dorian is good. _By the_ _Maker_ , is it ever good. There's a finesse to the man, a practiced grace in every area of his life – his magic, his wordplay, his mind. It shouldn't surprise Anders that it carries over into the bedroom, but it does.

“I'm used to being,” he pants. “The one who's good at this.”

“You _are_ good at this.” Dorian purrs.

“Not like you.”

Rich dark laughter behind his ear, “No one is like me, Amatus.”

 _Amatus_. Anders wants to know what it means, but doesn't want to ask. He'd never called him that before the night he... well. Anders had started to think of it as the night Dorian put him back together.

“You're a good friend,” Anders always says when he remembers that night.

“I do try,” Dorian always responds, lips curving up the side of his face.

Their friendship, and even their sex life, is solid. Both of them are comfortable with this exchange, this closeness and camaraderie and the unspoken understanding that some nights they will end up in each others' rooms. It's fun. One of them always leaves before morning.

It means nothing.

But when Anders moans Dorian's name, Dorian's fingers tighten in his hair and he makes a sound, high and breathy, even if – and Anders has tested it – what's happening elsewhere doesn't warrant a sound like that. And when they're just getting started, when Anders kisses along Dorian's throat, when he indulges his emotions for a flickering second and kisses his skin soft, gentle, he can feel the other man's pulse quicken beneath his lips.

And in the afterglow, sweat cooling on their skin, they always find an excuse to linger in the others' bed just a little longer.

It means nothing.

“What does that mean?” Anders finally asks, reaching for his shirt on the floor.

Dorian shrugs, picks at his nails. “It's an endearment.”

“I gathered that much. But what does it _mean_?”

The other mage doesn't meet his eyes as he stands, grabbing Anders' pants and handing them to him. It's only with his mustache tickling the skin below Anders' ear that Dorian says, “It means you're much better at this than you think you are,” and pinches his ass through his newly donned pants.

It means nothing.

 

\---

 **Deleted Scenes** : I read a few fics [RESEARCH OK!] that had Anders unable to   
orgasm due to Justice's meddling. I thought I'd do the same thing, but ehhhh. EHHHHH.   
I went the complete opposite direction w/Justice enjoying sex too HAHAHA

 

“Before we start,” said Anders, leaning back. “I should tell you something.”

“How ominous.” Dorian smirked. “You're not a virgin, are you?”

The blond laughed. “Definitely not. But, um...” He cleared his throat. “I can't actually, ah... I can't orgasm. At all.”

“Can't?” Dorian frowned.

“It's Justice.” Anders made a gesture at his body. “He sort of... interferes.”

 

\---

 

Dorian shoved Anders' shoulders roughly, pushing him against the wall and shouting into his face, “Justice! Talk to me. Now.”

“What are you-” Anders said as blue cracks fractured across his skin, his eyes going violently bright.

“What do you want?” Justice snarled with Anders' mouth.

Dorian leveled a glare at the spirit. “So. You're a spirit of justice – fairness and all that, yes?” Justice was going to protest but Dorian kept talking. “So tell me. A man gives you use of his body – something he was not required to do, something he did of his own free will – and then he even works with you to achieve your ends. And as a guest in his body, you boss him around, make demands, and deny him the most basic of human pleasures. Where's the _justice_ in that?”

As the spirit receded and Anders' eyes turned warm and brown again, his mouth agape, Dorian smiled.

“Now were we?”

 

\---

 **Deleted Scene** : At one point, there were going to be desire demons. I have no idea why.

The desire demon’s breasts swung as she bobbed in mid-air, her body sinuous and fluid.

Dorian chuckled. “Wrong flavor, I’m afraid.”

With a ripple of soft purple magic, her body changed to that of a well-toned young man, all golden skin and strong features.

 

\---

 **Deleted Scene** : Originally, their emotional night of kissing and cuddles was going to  
end in comfort sex, but I really didn't want to go that direction, because Dorian would be too  
comfortable in that situation. He would know exactly where he stood w/Anders, lol. And I wanted  
him to be complete thrown off and not know wtf he was doing. :3 

 

His fingers slip under the hem of Anders' pants and the blonde gives a shaking gasp.

“Is this alright?” _Let me take care of you._

“You don't have to. I didn't come here for-”

“Is it alright?” He enunciates every word. _Let me care for you the only way I know how._

A pause, then another quiet whisper, “Yes.”

Anders isn't hard, and Dorian takes to kneading him gently beneath his clothes, settling in closer. He keeps a gentle rhythm, slow and soft, listening to the little changes in the other man's breathing, feeling him grow stiff in his hand.

Dorian snakes an arm under Anders' head and leans them close together, the blonde's head pressing against his chest, Dorian's lips on the part of the other's hair.

 

\---

 **Deleted Scene** : Originally it was gonna be Bull, not Zevran, and they were going to have a very angry   
confrontation that ended in shouted “BUT I LUFF YOU” nonsense. Eh. Too melodramatic.

 

Anders' mouth fell open at the sight of them, his face softening with hurt, sharpening with hunger, then finally burning with jealousy.

"Good evening, Anders," said Dorian.

The blond blinked rapidly. "I... you and Bull? _Really_?" His voice was loud enough to draw stares.

"Inside." Bull kicked his door back open. "I'll be in the tavern."

The two mages' eyes remained locked until Bull passed, then Dorian stepped through the open door. ‎Anders followed.

The second the door shut, Dorian began speaking, faster and louder and able to cover the other's protests.

"You do _not_ get to be jealous.” He punched the air with a pointing finger on each word. “ _You_ threw _me_ out, remember? _You're_ the one who's been avoiding _me_.”

 

\---

 **And finally, deleted scene** : An "I love you" scene. Removed because OMFG these two are   
going to take YEARS before they're ready for that.

 

Anders was shaking his head, smiling down at his own beautiful, beautiful mage. 

“Yes?” Dorian clutched at the soft fabric of his shirt hanging loose between them, eyes down, nervous.

Another kiss, gentle and tender and slow. Then, grinning and trying not to, Anders said. “Yes. I love you, too.”

 


	23. Last Deleted Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-read this fic and hated the ending. So pls go back to chapter 21 for a much more satisfying "they wake up together" scene. Below is the original, so if you're new.... hi! Look how terrible this ending was. Aren't you glad I changed it? :P

Anders woke up in Dorian's bed for the third time.

He stretched and twisted, turning over, but Dorian held him fiercely.

"No," he whispered against Anders' shoulder, voice sleepy, sounding as mussed as his hair. "Please don't leave."

Warmth filled Anders as he slipped an arm around the other man. "I wasn't going to."

Dorian's green eyes opened, his face looking fragile and unguarded with morning. "Good. Consider this an open invitation. You don't ever have to leave in the morning." He pulled Anders close, tucking the blonde under his chin. "And for the record," he said to the part in his hair. "I definitely liked being with you. _Like being_ with you. I don't want to hear any nonsense about my feeling otherwise, yes?"

Anders smiled into Dorian's chest. "Okay."

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

Anders surfaced, kissing the underside of Dorian's chin. "I said okay."

Dorian smiled. "Good." 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dragon Age Big Bang 2015. My tumblr - [andrastesass](http://andrastesass.tumblr.com).


End file.
